


hold me close, in fact bury me

by djhedy



Series: sunrise, abram [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Beach Holidays, Cuddles, Drinking Games, Fluff, Found Family, Healing, Healthy Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Or trying to, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Should be a tag, Talking, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vacation, amirite, angry lasagne, dunno, honestly theres a lot of hugging, i assume, i forgot to say that, let's all assume, like im realising as im writing this quite a lot, like this'll be ok in the end, lots of running, lots of talking, mini-golf, they speak with their bodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 02:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21092117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djhedy/pseuds/djhedy
Summary: Neil hasn’t had a panic attack in four months.---or it's the one year anniversary of when shit went down and neil is totally ok





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea honestly. why is this the only thing i can write? haha. people being sad and not dealing with it. shrug. xxx

Neil hasn’t had a panic attack in four months.

He only started calling them panic attacks six months ago. He goes to the twice yearly counselling meetings with Bee because it’s in his contract. The extra sessions are usually because Andrew makes him go.

Andrew doesn’t _make_ him do anything, but. He suggests it in that way he has, where he looks at Neil like he’s an idiot. That look that either makes Neil sigh in exasperation, or kiss him in exasperation. Andrew looked at him until Neil forgot any of his arguments against going.

It was like getting blood from a stone. What had started off as Neil feeling in the right – _I’m not talking to her, I’m not telling her anything, I don’t tell anyone anything _– had felt less powerful after his father was dead.

“Andrew told me you’ve been having panic attacks.”

“What happened to patient doctor confidentiality?”

“He told me five minutes ago, outside, and asked me to mention it.”

“Oh. Well, Andrew doesn’t know what he’s talking about. They’re not _panic _attacks.”

“But you do acknowledge something’s been happening. Could you describe it to me?”

After a few more minutes of dodging and silence Neil folded his arms and looked away from Bee as he spoke. He knew what Andrew was referring to. The way sometimes he would get all tight and out of breath. He described it as an after effect of exercise, natural stress of the season. Bee said, “So it only happens after exercise, or when you’re thinking about Exy?” and Neil didn’t reply.

It took a while. But, yeah. Fine. Panic attacks. There’s a part of him that still doesn’t think that sounds right – if his body is stressing out he just thinks of it as habit, as training, from life on the run. And it’s nearly been a year since – he likes to think of it as a year since Nathaniel died. Thinking of it like that makes him smile.

Their exy season ended in February, and of course they were devastated, but it’s been a month and Neil and Kevin understand what went wrong and have plans to fix it next year. Without Dan. Without Renee, or Alison.

Neil licks his bottom lip and shakes his head. He needs a distraction.

He finds Andrew on the steps of the language building. He walks up to him and shoves his hands in his pockets, and says, “Cheater.”

Andrew rolls his eyes and falls into step next to Neil. “I’m sorry Josten, are you confusing cheating for hard work again?”

“You went to the language library.”

“Good deduction skills.”

“_Without _me.”

“You are the one who insisted we learn Russian.”

“That’s actually fundamentally untrue, I wanted to learn Italian,” and they spend a few minutes bickering, and Neil feels something unfurl in his chest.

But maybe Andrew saw something in his eyes, because as they reach Fox Tower he stops walking, waits for Neil to turn back and then assesses him.

“What?”

After a minute Andrew keeps walking and says, “Nothing.”

Neil is bouncing on the toes of his feet. They’re in the dorm and Nicky and Aaron are arguing about what movie to watch, and Matt is making polite conversation with Kevin about exy – Neil can tell it’s polite because Matt has that look on his face like he’s remembering how much fun it was to punch Kevin – and Andrew isn’t around.

Neil is just feeling very energetic today. He keeps looking at the clock, like he can’t believe how slow – or fast? – time is ticking by. And he makes a smoothie in the kitchen and sips at it before he remembers he’s not hungry. He drops the smoothie on the table in front of Kevin and walks away before he can see his surprised expression.

“Jesus Neil will you sit down,” says Nicky eventually. “If you do one more lap of the suite I’m going to get dizzy.”

Neil waves this off as inconsequential, stops in front of his room and thinks about going for a run. He goes in and changes his trainers, takes off his hoody, steps out into the living room again.

Matt glances at his running trainers and says, “Didn’t you already go for a run this afternoon?”

Neil shrugs, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

The room is a little quiet as Neil hunts for his keys. Kevin says, “You went for one this morning too.”

Neil glares at him. “Do you have a point? I’ll be back in an hour.” Before he can get his fingers round the door handle there’s a touch to his arm.

When Neil looks round Nicky is smiling and says, “Take your phone, would you?” Neil’s phone is in Nicky’s hand.

He takes his phone.

He guesses they just don’t get it. No one else on the team is much of a runner. Sometimes Kevin will join him, less often Matt – once Andrew, but he swore never again. The others prefer the gym, the variety of their own routines.

But they must not get it. _Nothing _feels like this.

He’s not thinking as he runs. It’s the only time he doesn’t. Sometimes he’ll think about the pavement, concrete, the rough beat in his chest, how out of breath he is, will go a little faster, see how out of breath he can get while still going, going, going – thinks if he runs fast enough – but really he’s not thinking at all.

He slows down on his way back until he’s walking through the car park. He’s out of breath, in that kind of intoxicating way where he can almost taste exhaustion in the back of his throat, his heart constricting, every movement of his legs sending shakes up through his body. He’s almost smiling. And then he sees Andrew.

Andrew is stood outside the main door, leaning with his back to the wall. There are five cigarette ends at his feet.

Neil stops a couple of feet away from him and says, “Miss me?”

Andrew’s jaw tenses and he says, “You take your phone?”

Neil says, “Yeah?”

“Yeah?” Andrew mimics, and that’s how Neil can tell he’s pissed. Neil takes his phone out his pocket and sees a few messages, a few missed calls.

He says, “Oh, sorry. I guess I didn’t hear it. I was only gone an hour.”

“An hour, he says,” says Andrew. “It’s ten.”

Neil blinks. “Oh.” He looks back down at his phone. Sees the time. He’d left at seven. “I… shit, how was I gone that long?”

“You’re severely damaged,” suggests Andrew, before turning round and heading back inside.

Neil frowns. Follows him inside. His chest is still tight, like a hand gripping upwards into his throat so he can’t breathe, and something sinks down into his stomach.

He follows Andrew into their suite, and Neil is surprised to see everyone still there. Even Aaron. “He’s alive,” says Andrew, and Neil doesn’t get what the fuss is about.

“Neil you stupid fuck,” says Matt, standing from the couch and frowning. “Were you really running all that time?”

Neil takes in a deep breath and says, “Yeah?” He doesn’t know what else to say. They don’t get it. He’s fine. “What’s the big deal?”

Andrew holds out his hand and Neil frowns at it before taking his phone out his pocket and handing it over. While Andrew fiddles with something Kevin says, “You’re an idiot. We’ve talked about this before.”

“No,” says Neil, annoyed now, and he walks into the kitchen, fills a glass of water and downs it in one go before coming back, raising an eyebrow at Kevin. “You talked. And you’re a dirty hypocrite, are we still going to the court tonight?”

Kevin frowns, and now Aaron and Nicky are shuffling, uncomfortable, in their bean bags, shooting things at random on the screen. Neil has no idea what’s going on. Kevin says, “No, Neil, we stopped night practises a week ago.”

Neil knows that. He remembers that. It’s the start of spring break, and while they’re still practising with their team every day, still running drills and strategies, Wymack had hauled Kevin and Neil into his office and said they needed to start winding down, that soon it would be exams and the end of the year and summer, that they could start up again in June. Neil remembers this. He was just. This was stupid. He pauses and then says tightly, “I know. I just meant you’re not one to talk.”

Andrew throws his phone at him and Neil only just catches it before it falls. He says, “Your phone is on the loudest setting. If I find you’ve turned it down there will be consequences.” It’s the sort of thing that, coming from anyone else, would sound pathetic or mockable, like they couldn’t come up with an actual threat, like they wouldn’t see it through – but it’s just what Andrew says, and Neil knows what he means.

What he says is, “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

He turns and slams into his room, angry now. Even as he removes his sore, blistered feet from his trainers, he wishes he wasn’t taking them off, wants to leave this suffocating heat, wants the compression back in his chest, thought it would last longer, climbs up to his bunk, leaving Andrew’s bed empty, isn’t sure he could bear the heat right now, feels like every square inch of his skin is sweating, although he stopped sweating ten minutes ago, and he wants it back, wants to feel liquid spool against his skin, wants to feel like his heart is still beating.

He’s still staring at the ceiling when Andrew comes in sometime later. They don’t say anything, Andrew just leans against Kevin’s loft bed on the opposite wall, arms folded, waits to see if Neil will fold first.

He always does.

Neil says, “What’s the big deal?”

“They’re worried about you.”

Neil leans up on one elbow and glares at Andrew. “Well they don’t need to be. For fuck’s sake I’m not going to fall apart because it’s been a year since – like, what – what even happened?”

Andrew doesn’t look impressed. He says, “You do know how you sound right now.”

Hysterical, Neil thinks. Unable to say – “Fine,” he says, “a year since…” he stops again. Fumbles a little. It’s not that he can’t say it, it’s that he’s not sure how he wants to formulate the thought. “Well that fucking mess of shit. Who cares.”

“Wow,” says Andrew. “Very impressive, Neil. What a flair for the English language you have.” He switches to German and says, “_Can you say it in German?_” Neil doesn’t say anything. Andrew switches to Russian. _“How about now_?” He switches to French and just says, in a bland American accent, “_In French_?”

“You’re not funny,” says Neil, staying up on his elbows but looking away, feeling heat collect in his stomach.

“Trust me, if I was trying to be funny you would know,” says Andrew, and the cockiness isn’t new, but this persistence is, and Neil isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do about it.

“I’m going to sleep,” he says, and drops back down, one hand on his forehead, still on his back and in his running gear, his clothes sticking to him in uncomfortable places.

“Tomorrow, Josten,” says Andrew, and he moves away, gets ready for bed, disappears into the bunk below Neil’s.

Neil falls asleep with his hand resting on his head.

In the morning he wakes slowly, or maybe it’s all at once, it’s hard to tell. He knows he’s awake because he’s aware of how slowly he’s breathing, of the scratch of pillow against his face. He thinks he can hear people move around, so he figures it must be a reasonable time to wake up.

He shuffles his legs a little under the blanket, a little test run, feels resistance – in fact feels shoots of pain up his body. Sighs. Thinks he’ll have to skip his morning run. Maybe he can go on one later.

He doesn’t know how long time passes – he knows he’ll get up soon, he just – they’re not doing anything today. Tomorrow they’re going off on vacation, to some cabin that Allison and Nicky chose, but today is Saturday and.

But he guesses it’s late because eventually he hears Andrew say, “Are you getting up any time today?”

When he blinks his eyes open Andrew is standing in front of him, arms folded.

Neil considers replying. What would he say? He hasn’t decided yet. Of course he’s getting up. He just hasn’t yet.

So he shrugs. Thinks this is a reasonable response, but Andrew frowns a little. “It’s midday, Josten.”

Huh, thinks Neil. Later than he thought, then. He lifts his eyes to the window, tries to make some sort of judgement about the light level. Thinks he must have been staring for too long because Andrew’s voice eventually brings him back, “Do you want me to go?”

Andrew’s moved closer, and one hand is gripping the edge of the bed, near where Neil’s hand is resting. It’s a strange question, except Neil thinks he probably meant _do you want me_, which is the same thing really, so Neil shakes his head and manages to shuffle backwards a little, his back hitting the wall.

Andrew has never been in his bed before. Neil usually – always – sleeps in Andrew’s bed these days, unless one of them has a reason not to.

Andrew turns and in one swift motion pushes himself up onto the bed, foregoing the steps like a normal person, swinging his legs in and lowering himself slowly onto his side. There’s still a couple of inches between them as Andrew settles his head on the edge of Neil’s pillow.

He’s still frowning.

Neil clears his throat, licks his lips, and says, “I’m ok.”

Andrew just shakes his head minutely, and says, “Don’t.”

So he closes his eyes, grips Andrew’s fingers softly, and falls back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i wanted to write something nice today but what happened instead was i wrote about neil dealing with his trauma, and writing about depression or anxiety and ignoring your problems is apparently a little overwhelming, so I decided to stop and turn this into a multi-chapter thing instead. because i realised i can't fix neil's problems if i'm feeling like this. anyway. sorry for short chapters that's how i roll. stick around for holiday shenanigans and not dealing with your mental health problems xxx


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all your lovely comments, gah. they really meant a lot to me after i struggled with the opening to this. xxx

Neil isn’t sure if he’s woken by his body’s instinctual shuffling into Andrew’s body, edging up against the thing that will make him warm, or if he’s woken because of how trained he is to notice when Andrew tenses up.

His eyes snap open first, then his eyelids lift to Andrew’s blank face – blank, but set, his eyes tracking Neil half-lidded but alert, as though even half-asleep he’s never switched off which, as Neil thinks about it, he probably isn’t.

Neil blinks a couple of times and then says, “Oh, sorry,” or at least tries to, but it comes out more like a scratch, so he clears his throat and tries to edge away. Andrew’s hand lands softly on his hip, stilling him. Neil can feel the flat of his palm against bone, feel the warmth through his shirt. Neil raises an eyebrow.

Andrew just nods so Neil curls back again and lets his head rest on Andrew’s chest. This has two advantages: it’s warm – especially with the way Andrew’s hand skates over his hip and pulls at the small of his back, encasing him in a circle of skin and muscle – and he can listen to Andrew’s heartbeat. It’s steady.

“He’s awake,” says Andrew blandly, like they hadn’t just had an entire conversation with their bodies.

Neil shakes his head. Opts to say, “Oh I don’t think so,” even though he knows cutesy always gets him punished. This time is no different. He can practically feel Andrew’s eyes roll through small tremors in his chest, and Neil wants to hold on, but he didn’t ask for that, so he lets Andrew peel away gently, and smiles up at him instead.

“You look better,” Andrew says quietly.

Neil considers this – because he’s trying not to lie to Andrew – and says, “I feel better.” He’s not sure how he felt before, but he knows the way everyone reacted, and alongside the practise of being honest with Andrew is also trying to trust the people around him a bit more, so he’s happy to say that the way he feels smiling into Andrew’s soft post-nap expression, looking down at him like he’s working out if there’s anyone he needs to maim, makes him feel better.

They lie side by side for a few minutes, Andrew staring up at the ceiling, the hand that had been curled around Neil now curling into the flop that sits on top of his head, the other resting on his chest, Neil staring at Andrew, hands itching between them like they want to be elsewhere.

Neil says, “Can we have pancakes?”

“Breakfast was hours ago,” Andrew says, “and you know where the box is.”

He does. He is also suddenly, desperately, intensely aware of how much he’d like to shower. Without trying to hide it he turns his face to sniff at his armpit and scrunches up his face. “Shower first,” he says.

“Glad you came to that conclusion all by yourself, I was trying to work out how to break it to you.” Andrew leans up onto one elbow, as if he’s going to move to let Neil out of bed, but then just turns his body to face him.

“No you weren’t,” says Neil.

“No,” agrees Andrew, his eyes bright and awake, “you smell terrible and it’s right that you should know that.” But he hesitates, his eyes flicking to Neil’s lips, leaning half-way down like it’s a question, and Neil closes his eyes and tilts his face up.

Neil likes kissing Andrew when he wakes up. Before he’s showered, before he’s had his run, before coffees and breakfast, before he talks to anyone else in the world. Today Andrew’s been up already, has probably spoken to Kevin and maybe some of the others – maybe discussing Neil and his uncharacteristic lie-in – and maybe that should ruin some of it, but it doesn’t. Neil gets to kiss Andrew before too many of their hard edges creep in. Before Neil can overthink and Andrew can overanalyse, before anything that isn’t Neil and Andrew.

As Andrew’s lips skate softly over his – not so soft he can’t tell it’s Andrew, but soft in a way it usually isn’t when they first wake up, the closeness of dreams and the lack of the other’s body during the night making for a sometimes quite needy reunion – he wonders if Andrew had missed it this morning.

And that makes Neil grin as Andrew pulls away. Which makes Andrew roll his eyes and jump out of bed.

When Neil leaves the bathroom sometime later it’s to an empty dorm, except for Andrew stood in the kitchen, whisking something in a bowl. Neil smirks and stretches, flopping onto a stool.

“That for me?” he asks.

“Depends,” says Andrew.

“On?”

“On how much you bother me between now and when they’re done.”

Neil grabs his bag and roots through it until he remembers it’s spring break – no work.

He puts it down on the floor and checks his phone. It’s early afternoon. He wonders if he can convince Kevin into taking him to the court. “Where’s Kevin?”

“Under strict instructions not to go anywhere near the court,” replies Andrew, pouring batter into a pan. It hisses promisingly.

Neil groans. “Wymack?” he guesses.

“Me.”

And Neil can’t argue with that. “Oh,” is all he says, so he leans his head on his arms on the counter.

Andrew lets out a huff of impatience. “No homework, no running, no exy, what _will _you do,” he says, sarcasm dripping into the pancake batter.

“Hey,” says Neil, like he’s going to argue. “I’m interesting,” is all he manages. But he does feel tired, and although some part of him is itching to move, to do something, he can feel his body growing floppy, can feel energy draining away from him. By the time Andrew’s sliding a plate towards him he’s frowning down at him.

“Pancakes,” Andrew says. Neil lifts his head and attempts a small smile, but he’s more tired than he thought. When he doesn’t lift his fork immediately Andrew pokes it towards him.

Neil eats his pancakes.

They spend the rest of the day in quiet, and entirely alone, to the extent that Neil assumes Andrew must have told the others to stay away. The second Neil realises this – huddled in an oversized hoody watching a baking reality show he doesn’t understand but that he enjoys watching Andrew watch – he feels intensely grateful.

“Where is everyone?” he asks, head lolling against the back of the beanbag while Andrew shakes his head at something on the screen.

Andrew doesn’t look at him. “Away,” he says.

“Why?”

Andrew turns to face him. “I thought you might want some quiet.”

It’s not that Andrew isn’t often generous or thoughtful – in fact Neil thinks that Andrew’s best and worst qualities are because of how intensely he is both of those things – but it’s how willing he is to state it. It makes him vulnerable, and he must realise that because there’s a very faint frown on his face as he turns back to the tv. He says, “They spent too long on the first cake. This time management is appalling.”

Neil frowns at Andrew. “Andrew,” he says, “I’m – ok.”

“Ok,” says Andrew, unconvinced, and then, “he’s not going to have time to do the caramel topping.”

“Really,” says Neil, sitting up, and he can hear the edge to his voice. Andrew raises an eyebrow at him. “Look I really don’t want people walking on eggshells around me. I’m glad we’re going all going away together, again, and I get that… it’s a bit like last year when… and I know they’re all…” he gestures vaguely. “But I’m not breakable,” he finishes. He looks away from Andrew, already regretting his half-words, expecting to be mocked for them, feeling awful and embarrassed.

But Andrew’s only quiet a moment before saying, “I wanted some quiet too.”

The words confuse Neil for a second – Andrew always wants quiet, and they joke about it frequently, and it’s an accepted and acceptable part of who he is – but then he realises, in a way he hadn’t really before – because he hadn’t been letting himself think about it at all – that this is an anniversary for the Foxes too. For Andrew. Of when Neil disappeared into Lola’s car. Of when he was driven away and they didn’t know where he was and it must have been hours and he hadn’t really thought what that must have been like because he’d been spending all his time not thinking –

He stands. He’s on his feet before he’s contemplated it, and his fingers are twitching at his sides. “Going somewhere?” Andrew calls after him as he makes his way to the bedroom. It’s only in his bedroom that he realises Andrew won’t let him go for a run. But he’s feeling reckless. When he turns round, running trainers on, Andrew is leaning against the doorframe. He doesn’t look impressed.

“What,” says Neil, as flat as possible, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. He tries breathing again.

“You were running most of yesterday,” Andrew says, his voice low like he’s trying to communicate to Neil how annoyed he is without having to sound it. He folds his arms and Neil bounces a little on his feet. His breaths are shallow.

“So?”

“So take a break.”

Neil grits his teeth. “I don’t know why you’re –” he stops, because his breathing is speeding up, because he’s trying to be more honest with Andrew, because the knowledge is there, a little out of reach.

“No, do continue,” says Andrew, pushing off the doorway and walking towards Neil, the anger clear in his voice now. “Do ask me why I’m concerned that it is still your first instinct every time you feel something you don’t like to _fucking run_.”

And that knocks any frustration Neil was feeling out of him.

He hadn’t really thought.

Because he doesn’t want to.

“Andrew,” he says, and it comes out sounding slightly desperate, and he’s so ashamed he puts one hand over his face, takes in a shallow shuddering breath before removing it and continuing, “I have to _move_.”

His eyes are closed, which is why he startles a little when he feels Andrew’s finger on his chin. He’s tilted down gently, and when he opens his eyes Andrew is a breath away, fierce and unmoveable, his other hand settling gently on Neil’s chest, his palm warm and his fingers spread out. Neil can feel every inch of them. And every breath hurts but Neil lets every memory of Andrew holding him up work with present Andrew, his eyes sure and awake and here. Neil watches Andrew’s chest rise and fall, watches how still his frame is, how intent his gaze. When Neil has managed five steady breaths, blinking but otherwise steady and still, his attention entirely on Andrew, Andrew says, “No, Neil. You don’t.”

They need to pack, but the sun is setting, so they head to the roof. Their legs dangle over the edge – Neil taps his rhythmically against concrete, partly to get out his dwindling energy, partly to see if it’ll annoy Andrew. But Andrew is still, one hand behind him, leaning back and dragging smoke out his cigarette and blowing it into the sky. Everything is orange, and pink, and the grey of Andrew's cigarette smoke curls gently towards hazy clouds.

Neil says, “Remind me how we got tricked into going for a _whole week_.”

“Why are you saying that like you weren’t on the planning committee?”

Neil rolls his eyes, steals Andrew’s cigarette. “I wasn’t,” he says, and breathes in shallowly, just enough that the scent lingers, before Andrew steals it back again.

“I heard you offered us to buy alcohol.”

“I offered myself,” Neil says, leaning one hand back too, resting it close to Andrew’s. He watches their fingers bracing their arms up an inch apart from each other and says, “you have the option of remaining alcohol free.”

Andrew huffs, turns to Neil, and now they’re closer than before, Neil angling his body towards Andrew’s. “If I left it up to you it would all be store brand vodka and smoothies.”

Neil shakes his head. “That was one time, and Kevin liked it.”

“Kevin likes efficient vodka delivery methods,” Andrew says. But it’s all just words as their lips crash together. And finally, finally, this is what Neil has wanted. Needed. They move so fast together it’s like Andrew has been waiting for permission, like Neil has been waiting to work out what he needed.

Andrew pushes him gently to the ground, cigarette forgotten, mouth hot against his, uses his other hand to lift Neil’s hand away from their bodies, teases it uncertainly above Neil’s body before dropping it in his hair.

And Neil stops thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sunset kissing is my favourite, which you'll know if you've read... anything else i've ever written  
you're welcome  
stay tuned xxx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> realised im busy next couple of days so stayed up to get this up :). thanks for all your lovely comments, i read all of them at least twice... much love! next chapter should be at weekend xxx

Neil’s running when the sun starts to peel itself out from behind the horizon. His fingers started off bitterly cold, and he can tell they’re going to be chapped later, but now coldness is a dull ache, settling comfortably in his skin. He’s pulling out all his sore muscles from a day not moving yesterday, and it feels – it feels like nothing.

His feet are slamming hard against concrete and he’s feeling nothing when he hears his phone ring. He slows down, but doesn’t stop entirely, answers his phone and breathes, “Yeah?”

A moment’s silence and then a heavy sigh. “You’re out running, I take it.”

“No, I’m getting ice cream.”

“Liar.”

Andrew hangs up and Neil shoves it back in his pocket.

He makes a quick diversion on the way home, and by the time he’s back the sun has risen properly, soft blue skies largely unruined by cloud, sweat dripping off his forehead and a pint of ice cream in the bag swinging from his arm.

In the dorm he drops the bag in Andrew’s lap without ceremony.

Kevin looks up from his bowl of cereal, but barely. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes,” he says. “Matt came by to check you’d be ready.”

“I’ll be ready,” says Neil, taking off his shoes and wiping his face with his shirt.

“What am I meant to do with this?” Andrew’s holding up the bag as if he hasn’t looked inside.

Neil says, “Breakfast?” At Andrew’s unamused face he adds, “We’ll have it when we get back. I have to pack.”

“Shower first,” says Kevin, and Neil can’t help smile as he sees the same words die in Andrew’s aborted expression. He throws some things into a bag, robotically, barely noticing what he packs, grabs a towel and heads to the bathroom.

He has a little talk with himself in the shower, tests his boundaries: _a year ago, shit happened, I survived, who cares._ Reminds himself the Foxes are likely to be over protective this week, that he’ll find it irritating, that he’ll have to remind them that his scars stopped hurting almost as long ago as he got them.

He doesn’t look at his reflection when he leaves the bathroom.

In the bedroom, Andrew is unpacking Neil’s bag, folding things, and replacing them. Neil watches as he hunts for a phone charger, and packs it in the side pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing.”

“I did it already.”

Andrew waves a hand like, _you call this packing_, and continues contentedly.

Neil walks past him, intending to find a hoody, but Andrew snags his tshirt as he moves to walk past, and for a second they stare at each other. There’s something in Andrew’s expression, something Neil can’t read, and he lets the frustration of this wash over him, lets it get replaced with patience. He doesn’t have a right to all of Andrew’s secrets.

But he asks anyway, “Everything ok?”

Andrew lets out a little breath, strokes a hand gently over Neil’s cheek, and kisses him. “Yes,” he says tightly against Neil’s lips.

“Ok,” Neil breathes back.

Outside, the Foxes are loitering around Matt’s truck. They hadn’t invited any of the freshmen – why would they? They weren’t family.

Neil lets Matt hug him, smiles at Dan.

Nicky says, “You ok kid?” He’s grinning and his hands are in his pockets, but everyone’s expressions are a little wary.

Neil removes himself from Matt’s side and says, “Yeah?”

“One day he’ll learn to say that like it’s not a question,” says Matt.

Neil fistbumps Allison. She grins and says, “Nice bags. You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

Aaron and Andrew are doing some sort of not looking at each other thing and Neil nudges Renee. “Hey, did he ever invite Katelyn?” he says low.

“No,” she replies. Gives him a sad smile. “I didn’t ask why.”

Neil nods, just wanting the facts.

Allison opens the door to her car and snaps her fingers at the girls. “Renee, Dan, you’re coming with me. Mandatory girl time,” and swings inside before they answer.

Matt rolls his eyes and gets into his truck, not waiting to see who he’s taking. Aaron climbs up beside him without hesitation, and then it’s the four of them.

Nicky smiles at Neil again. “See you there?”

“Sure,” says Neil, and Kevin follows Nicky into the back of Matt’s truck.

Something like relief settles in Neil’s stomach as he and Andrew get into Andrew’s car.

They’ve been doing this – whatever – the Andrew and Neil thing for over a year now. And they don’t need to talk about it, Neil’s never felt the need for an explanation, or an acknowledgement. It’s the only thing in his life he understands. But it means they don’t talk to the others about it either, or at least Neil doesn’t. Hasn’t felt the need to before.

But this is the longest time they’ll spend with everyone. Last summer people divided up, Andrew and Neil heading to Columbia and everyone seeing their other families – Kevin with Wymack and Abby, Nicky with Erik, Aaron with Katelyn’s family. Andrew and Neil didn’t have other family – and if they did, Neil secretly thought they’d still choose each other.

And last Christmas the five of them stayed in Columbia, mostly, Aaron disappearing with Katelyn for a while, Erik showing up for a bit.

And, yeah they all see each other every day. There’s no longer as big a divide as there used to be. They go out for team dinners, team brunches, even on the rare occasion a team Eden’s Twilight.

But Andrew and Neil sometimes sit at opposite ends of the group, sometimes don’t even talk. Occasionally Matt or Nicky will be sending Neil some sort of social signal that probably means _are you guys alright _or _do you want to sit by Andrew_ and Neil has to remind himself that, after all this time, they still don’t get it.

They’ve been driving in silence for a while now, and Neil says, “Andrew,” without working out what he was going to say. It came out of his subconscious, unwilled, and now he doesn’t know how to continue.

“Neil,” Andrew says, dry, flat, and Neil smirks out the windscreen.

“I dunno what I was gonna say, honestly.”

“What a sparkling conversationalist you are.”

“I guess I was just thinking about how the others see us.”

Andrew doesn’t object to Neil’s choice of words, doesn’t bother. “Do you care?”

Neil shrugs. “Not really.”

Neil can tell Andrew’s thinking about it from the way he slowly tenses and untenses his fingers on the steering wheel – not like he’s worked up, but like he’s grounding himself while he thinks. It makes Neil’s insides clench, warm and safe and grateful, and he wishes one of Andrew’s hands was on the gearstick so he could reach out and hold on to it.

Andrew says, “It doesn’t matter to me what they think.”

“I know.”

Neil lets a minute tick by before opening his mouth, but Andrew beats him to it. “It matters to me what you think.”

Neil twists his fingers together in his lap, leans more fully into his seat, stares out at the road. “What I think?”

“Yes. You do do that sometimes, yes?”

“Jerk.”

Andrew moves his hand and Neil takes it in a flash, holding it over the central console.

Neil takes some time to think before saying, “I really don’t care what they think of us. I do care how they see you, but I’d hope that’s changed since last year.”

“You are ridiculous,” says Andrew, but he squeezes Neil’s hand lightly. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

“They’re not your battles if it doesn’t matter to you what people think of you.”

“Exactly.”

“But it matters to me,” Neil says again, his words feeling a little more urgent, like he can’t work out how to explain himself. “Because…” He stops, holds himself short, bits his lip and turns to look out the side of the car.

But he thinks Andrew hears the end of that sentence, because he says, “Honestly Neil, sometimes I wonder if my life would be easier if I had just let the FBI take you,” and Neil grins, and a huff of air escapes his mouth, and then he laughs, and then he lets Andrew’s fingers run patterns over his hand that say _you matter to me too_, stops wondering whether the other Foxes know that Andrew touches him like this, makes him laugh like this, holds him together like this. It doesn’t matter if they do, because he does. And because Andrew does. And because Andrew is _here_.

It’s only a couple of hours’ drive to Savannah, and they meet up with the others at a diner to have lunch and share directions to the cabin Allison booked. Apparently it’s on a private beach. When Allison had brought up going to the beach, Neil had just shrugged agreement, turned away. Didn’t give it a second’s thought. Doesn’t think the fact of his mother’s death will have occurred to Andrew as a potential _thing_, and no one else knows the details.

He thinks it will be fine anyway. It’s just sand. Just sand. Sand and ocean.

He thinks it will be fine.

His knee is moving under the table, and maybe it’s shaking Andrew’s stool because Andrew reaches a slow hand out and puts it on Neil’s thigh. Squeezes a little too hard. Neil stops.

“So, what shall we do first?” asks Nicky, grinning around the straw in his milkshake.

“The forecast says it’s supposed to be sunny all week,” says Matt, “I want to go swimming.”

“Ew,” says Allison shortly. “The ocean is probably dirty as all fuck.” She tilts her head and adds, “Count me in.”

“We could see if there’s a court round here,” says Kevin, and someone throws a napkin at him. He scowls and says, “Well I’m not allowed to suggest running, so what are we supposed to do for fitness?”

Neil frowns. “What does that mean?”

Any potential awkward silence is covered up by Nicky’s awkward laughter. He says, “Andrew’s rules. Sorry man.”

Neil raises an eyebrow at Andrew, but it’s Dan who gives him a stern look and says, “And mine. I’m still captain and I thought we could do with a break this week. It’s not just you Neil, don’t look at me like that.”

“I can’t go running?” Neil asks, puts his fork down. He shakes his head. “I mean, maybe I appreciate your… is this concern? But you can’t stop me.”

Before anyone can interject Kevin says, “Maybe we can run around town, see if there’s a gym.”

Another napkin is thrown and then there’s groaning and laughter, but also easy conversation, between people who have known each other for years. It occurs to Neil, not for the first time, how much of an outsider he still occasionally feels. And then there’s the fact pumping round his head that the Foxes are being overprotective. They don’t want him to go for a run. What’s that about? Are they honestly afraid he’s going to… what. Run off? Are they serious? That’s –

“Josten.” Neil looks up. Stops tapping his fork against the table. Wasn’t aware he had been. Andrew is angled slightly towards him and looks concerned. But what he says is, “What do you want to do at the beach?”

It’s such an uncharacteristic question, coming from Andrew. Andrew guesses, and he prods, and he likes jokes that involve him knowing more than Neil – but he rarely downright asks. Neil is aware of Aaron and Nicky’s attention – the rest of the table appear to be arguing about what to order for dinner first, Mexican or Chinese – and Neil is slightly thrown off by Andrew’s behaviour, and the loudness of the conversation, and Andrew’s family’s attention. He replies, “What?”

Andrew is looking in his eyes like he can see all this, and then he stands abruptly. “We’re going.” He throws some notes down on the table.

“What?” asks Matt, frowning and looking like he wants to stand too. “Going where?”

“We’ll meet you at the house,” Andrew says.

“I didn’t give you directions,” starts Allison, lifting her handbag.

Andrew taps his head and starts leaving the diner, but he pauses at the door, one hand on it.

Neil sighs, and follows.

They don’t speak in the car. Andrew gets them out of Savannah, follows the interstate for a while and then pulls off on a road Neil didn’t remember Allison describing – but then Neil doesn’t remember half the stuff Andrew does – and not long after they start pulling up a drive.

The house looks big – apparently it has six bedrooms – and balconies and a deck. They pull up to the garage, leaving the car on the drive, and Andrew gets out first, starts walking towards the decking. Neil follows him.

He stops, abruptly. He thinks – he can picture – he can’t _see _it yet but in his head he’s running through the likely layout. Private beach. The deck probably –

He calls out, “Andrew?”

Andrew stops ahead of him, turns, his hands in his pockets, casual. Waits.

“I’m… can I…” Neil’s hands twitch at his sides and he feels angry. Tries to say _I’m going for a run_, tries to say, _I don’t have to ask your permission,_ tries to say _I don’t know what’s happening to me._

Andrew tilts his head to the side and then walks back towards Neil. There’s something in his eyes, amusement or… Neil can’t tell. When they’re almost touching Andrew stops, raises an eyebrow and says, “Don’t you want to see the bedroom first?”

And laughter explodes out of Neil. He feels his whole face scrunching up, sees Andrew’s small smile, runs a hand through his hair. Neil lifts a hand to Andrew’s face and leans towards him. Says, “Wow. Ok. I feel so used.”

“Like I’m with you for your personality,” Andrew mutters against his lips, but his eyes are closed, and his knuckles are grazing gently across Neil’s cheek, and then into his hair, and when Neil opens his eyes Andrew’s are still closed.

Neil lets Andrew tug him inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative dialogue go
> 
> neil: i'm... o k  
the foxes: how does he not get that's the same old shit
> 
> andrew: you make me so mad i'm gonna protect you forever  
neil: i object but wow same haha snap


	4. Chapter 4

Neil is boneless. He's trying not to smile as he stares up at the white peppered ceiling, eyes tracing patterns in the paint. His heart beat feels steady, soft, barely there, and the mattress is soft beneath him. He wriggles his legs a little, stops. Sighs.

Andrew walks out of the en suite bathroom, hair dripping over a tight white tshirt, one hand with a towel rubbing through his hair, and Neil feels his heart rate pick up.

“Well?” says Andrew after it’s clear Neil isn’t moving. He’s searching around the room.

“Well what?”

“Are you showering?” Andrew picks up his phone off the floor, perches on the edge of the bed and flicks through it.

“Nope,” says Neil, closing his eyes and turning his head into the pillow. “Can’t. Never moving again.”

“Drama queen,” mutters Andrew, but it sounds a little happy. The bed dips next to Neil and Andrew’s voice is closer when it says, “And what will I tell the others?”

“Hmm,” says Neil, tilting his head towards the voice without opening his eyes. “That I’ve been fucked into oblivion?”

Andrew snorts, and Neil opens his eyes immediately, wanting to see – the edge of annoyance in Andrew’s face, the way his eyes are narrowed, the incongruence of his lips, perked up at either side, like he’s delighted and horrified in equal measures. He balances it by shaking his head, mouth forming the faintest of smirks as he says, “You’re an idiot.”

“You didn’t seem to mind that ten minutes ago.”

“You weren’t talking ten minutes ago.”

Neil smirks and looks away. Andrew settles into the bed next to him and Neil says, “You wouldn’t actually tell them that.” To Andrew’s silence Neil adds, “You’re weirder about all this than I am.”

“Mm.” Andrew flops onto his stomach, rests the side of his face on his arms and faces Neil, considering him. Neil shuffles his face forward and plants a kiss on Andrew’s bicep. “Weirder.” It’s not said like a question, but Neil hears one anyway.

Neil shrugs and says, “You don’t tell them anything about – you and me.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know.”

“It’s none of their business.”

“Right.”

But Andrew doesn’t look done. He starts and stops a couple of times, moves his head so that his chin rests on his arms. Neil is struck by how much they’ve changed in a year. Both of them. How even this stilted half conversation wouldn’t have happened a year ago.

Andrew looks back at him and says, “I meant what I said.”

Neil frowns. “When?”

And that pained expression is back on Andrew’s face, the one where he feels like he’s giving too much of himself away, and Neil’s heart aches a little. He reaches out a hand slowly and, at Andrew’s small nod, rubs it gently down Andrew’s arm, fingers feeling at muscle. Andrew says, “Their opinions don’t matter to me.” He slows down a little. “Unless they matter to you.”

Neil tries not to smile at him. Doesn’t think this is the moment for smiling. Knows that Andrew means more _here is a problem I am trying to solve_, not particularly _you matter to me_ right now, but can’t help the way Andrew’s words and attention leave a little heat in his stomach. He turns his face away into his pillow, and elbows Andrew.

“Charming,” says Andrew.

Neil pulls his face back out of the pillow once he’s sure he has a handle on his expression and says, “So what, are you gonna tell them you _like like _me?”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “What a mistake I have made, talking to you about anything. This is why I usually do not bother.” It comes out like a bored drone, and Neil gives up resisting, and grins. “Is that what you want?”

Neil shrugs, because he doesn’t know, but he’s enjoying this too much. “Yep. I want them to know your undying feelings for me.”

“Ok,” says Andrew, shuffling onto his side, planting himself firmly along the edge of Neil’s body, elbow bracing against the mattress and head resting in his hand. Neil can feel his skin under his thin tshirt warm from the shower. Andrew raises his other hand and gestures at Neil. “I will tell them your face doesn’t make me want to kill myself.”

“Great,” says Neil, “I think that will do a lot for our credibility.”

But Andrew just raises an eyebrow. 

“What?”

Andrew gestures at his own face and Neil laughs, low, breathy, can’t help it – he’s almost giggling and is a little horrified. Manages to curb it by clearing his throat. Andrew’s giving him an odd look. Neil thinks for a second and says, still smiling, “Ok, I um – I will tell them I don’t hate the way your arms look when you’re holding yourself up over me.” He squeezes gently at Andrew’s bicep.

Andrew nods seriously, like this is still a joke he’s willing to commit to, but something is awake and alert in his expression. “I will tell them that stupid fucking laugh of yours doesn’t keep me awake at night.” He runs his thumb tentatively along Neil’s bottom lip.

Something feels like it’s changed about the conversation, but Neil isn’t entirely sure what. He bites his lip, not wanting to get it wrong but – “I will tell them how it’s not just you you’re holding up.”

Andrew flicks a look down at Neil’s lips, back up to his eyes. Neil’s on his back, but Andrew reaches across his stomach and pulls at his hip so that he turns, so that they’re chest to chest. One hand is wrapped firmly around his back, and he uses the other to touch Neil’s chin. His gaze is still intense, but now he sighs, and barely breathes out, “I will tell them I hate all of you. Every inch of you.”

And it isn’t funny anymore. And Neil isn’t sure they’ve ever had a conversation like this. Not like this. And he isn’t sure why they’re having it now. He’s not sure but his bones feel liquid and he’s safe and warm in Andrew’s arms, and if he closes his eyes he can forget that he was having any thoughts at all, just breathes in the same air as Andrew, runs his hand up Andrew’s arm, back down again, methodically, feeling the squirm of Andrew’s fist in the small of his back.

After an eternity, Andrew’s lips press gently against Neil’s and he licks softly into his mouth.

“_NEIL? ANDREW?” _

They slam apart, but of course the sheer volume and intensity of Nicky’s voice is just carrying through the house – their door is shut.

It takes the whole of Neil’s shower for his heart to stop racing.

Downstairs Neil finds Andrew leaning against the doorway to the living room, ostensibly in conversation with Nicky, but it seems to be all Nicky talking enthusiastically while Andrew does him the courtesy of not leaving.

“Neil! I assume you and Andrew have picked the best bedroom.” Neil enters the living room, ignoring Nicky’s grin, picks up a few grapes out of the bowl of fruit he assumes he has Kevin to thank for.

“It has a balcony, so Andrew can smoke,” says Neil.

“And you got the en suite,” pouts Nicky. “No fair. Where are my rights?”

Andrew says, “In the communal bathroom,” and turns to leave.

Nicky says, “You just wanted the top floor so you can make all the noise you want.”

Andrew stops, turns back to Nicky with something changed in his eyes – something maybe only Neil notices – and says, with a completely deadpan expression, “That’s Neil’s fault, not mine.”

Neil nearly chokes on his grape. Andrew’s in the kitchen – he can hear the low murmur of voices as he’s greeted by the others – before Nicky turns to Neil, mouth open and says, “Did that just happen?”

Neil shakes his head, and can’t help grinning. “Probably not, no.” He leaves a flummoxed Nicky and follows Andrew to the kitchen.

Matt is sat at the table, Dan in his lap. They’re discussing plans with Andrew. Neil is about to ask where everyone else is – the back door is open. There’s a breeze against his face before he turns to look. The deck is white wooden floorboards, a few chairs off to one side, what looks like a swing seat. Grey rolling sand as far as the eye can see. Maybe a glimmer of ocean. Maybe that’s the bottom of the sky. It’s hard to tell.

Grey rolling sand as far as the eye can see.

Grey

“Neil?”

Neil blinks, and turns to the voice. After a second he manages a small, “What?”

Matt is frowning at him. “You ok buddy?”

Andrew is leaning against the counter, and doesn’t move, but his frame tightens as Neil looks at him, instinctively. Yes, he’s ok. He turns back to Matt and says, “What were we talking about?”

No one answers immediately so Neil steps further into the room, flicks his gaze down and opens the fridge to get a bottle of water. “Thanks for shopping by the way,” he adds as he gulps down water.

“No problem,” says Dan. She sounds overly gentle, and it sort of pisses Neil off. With one hand gripping the fridge door, he closes his eyes, takes in as deep a breath as his lungs will allow, and shuts the door again.

“What were we talking about?” he insists, pulling out a chair at the table so that his back is to the long wall of windows, the breeze insistent on his back. A shiver runs up the back of his neck, and he rubs at it.

“We want to have a barbecue tonight,” says Matt, excitement returning to him, “Allison and Renee have gone to look for good rocks and to make a firepit. We have coal and a grill and everything.”

“Where’s Kevin?”

“Being grumpy about bedrooms,” Dan says. “You two were clever getting here first, don’t think we didn’t notice you taking the best room.” Her hand was on her hip as she said this, but she removes it and curls it around Matt’s shoulders.

Neil smiles a little, and says, “Sorry.”

Andrew snorts. And Neil knows this means _I’m not_, and he wants to laugh, and he is smiling, but it feels a little like plaster, like he’s being painted into the wall, the one facing the view of the beach, stuck so that all he sees forever is that fucking _beach_

“Aaron is unloading the truck.”

Neil sucks in a quick lungful, manages, “Did I ask?” And Dan laughs, Matt grinning at him, and Neil thinks he’s winning at diverting their attention, but he feels Andrew’s gaze hot on the back of his head. He hasn’t moved from the counter.

“So,” says Neil, moving to stand, “Barbecue later. Outside.” He manages to stand and places his hands on the back of the chair, for balance. “You need anything else for it?”

Matt shakes his head. “We got it all on the way over here. Figured we’d give you guys a little time.” He winks at Neil, but he knows this won’t get a response, so Neil just rolls his eyes and makes his way back to the living room. Nicky and Aaron are plugging in some games to the tv, having some heated debate about who won the last time they played whatever dumb game they’re into at the moment and Neil looks around the room as they do so, wondering if there are any books he could read, aware Andrew has followed him.

He turns and snaps, “_What?”_

Nicky and Aaron stop talking, flick a look between them. Andrew folds his arms, and doesn’t say anything. “I’m _fine_,” says Neil, irritated suddenly. “I’m just bored, you seriously expect me not to go running this whole time? We’re here for a week.”

“I haven’t said anything,” says Andrew.

“Good, in that case I’m going for a run.”

He moves to leave the living room, but Andrew plants his body in the doorway, blocking him. “But since you brought it up,” says Andrew, and Neil throws his hands in the air, “I don’t think it would be a bad idea to calm the fuck down for a few hours.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

Andrew doesn’t bother responding, but Nicky says tentatively, “Uh, Neil! Play a game with us? Aaron is so bad I bet even you could beat him.”

Neil can’t decide between returning Andrew’s hard gaze and not wanting to look directly at it. His heart is almost pounding in his chest, and he feels furious and can’t work out why – everything was so different just minutes ago, and he can’t work out why – upstairs everything felt so light, the mattress and the white ceiling and Andrew’s words and – and even joking with Nicky and, sometimes it feels like things are _changing _that things are _happening _to him and – he runs a hand through his hair and gulps in a breath and –

“Neil,” Andrew is whispering against his ear, and that must mean he moved towards him, and Neil brings up a hand to rest it on Andrew’s shoulder, and doesn’t remember closing his eyes but – Andrew’s hand is on the back of his neck, and it’s warm and sure and – “Are you breathing?”

He isn’t. Andrew takes his hand and runs it down his arm, presses Neil’s fingers against his wrist, and Neil can feel Andrew’s heart beat, a faint tap against his veins, warm and sure and – he starts sucking in small quiet breaths and feels the pump of Andrew’s blood and listens to his breath against his ear, and after a few moments he feels calmer.

He pulls away and flicks a glance at Andrew, feeling unsure. Andrew just raises his eyebrows at him and says. “A game sounds good, no?” It comes out sarcastic, dead, uncaring – but Neil knows when Andrew won’t change his mind about something. He sighs, resigned, shuffles to sit himself on the sofa. Andrew lands next to him.

They don’t play, but they watch Aaron and Nicky, and it’s actually kind of entertaining. Neil feels grateful that Nicky doesn’t mention his – well, his _nearly _– well, they don’t comment, and he feels grateful, and perhaps to make up for not commenting Nicky instead explains the game to Neil in a way that actually has him fighting back a smile, almost laughing when Nicky throws a sneaky grenade that cuts off Aaron’s head and shouts, “BOO-YAH.”

Aaron puts his controller on the ground, a little forcefully. “This game is stupid.”

“BOO… and I cannot stress this enough,” Nicky lifts his arms up triumphantly, “YAH.”

Neil lifts his feet up into the sofa, tucks them underneath him. Aaron and Nicky bicker a little longer, and everything feels calm and light again, or at least lighter – he doesn’t think anything will compare to the white ceiling above Andrew’s steady expression, panting softly and kissing Neil, as Neil lost himself again, as they lost everything but each other.

He leans gently against Andrew’s side, turns his head a little and mutters, “Thanks.”

Andrew tugs lightly at Neil’s tshirt, fingers worrying at the material. “We don’t have to go.”

Neil looks at him and frowns, “What do you mean?”

But Andrew doesn’t reply. So Neil turns his attention back to the screen.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in the living room. At one point Andrew leaves and returns with a glass of whisky and a bottle of water, hands the latter to Neil and settles down with a book, pulling a little at Neil until Neil’s head is resting against his shoulder. He lets his limbs relax into the sofa, feeling oddly restful, doesn’t think anything of the position until Nicky raises an eyebrow at them, opens his mouth and receives a quick thump on the arm from Aaron.

Eventually they leave too, to help with cooking, and are replaced by Allison and Renee.

“I like, refuse to help cook,” says Allison, sitting on the floor with a bottle of vodka, Kevin quick to follow after her. “Gender roles are very last century.”

Renee smiles at her and Kevin snatches the bottle from Allison and poures it into the paper cups Matt is holding.

Neil thinks he must have fallen asleep, because his eyes snap open to Andrew’s hand carding through his hair. He’s horizontal, and Andrew is crouching on the floor in front of him. “_Neee-il_,” he says. “Are you alive?”

Neil sits up slowly, feeling foggy, disoriented. He glances around the room. “I fell asleep?”

“Either that or you’re having a stroke.” Andrew stands up and cocks his head to the side. “Do you feel like you’re having a stroke?”

Neil stands, stretches, and says, “If I was having a stroke that question would be no help whatsoever.”

Andrew shrugs and leaves and.

Neil stays still for a second. He’s not sure why he’s reluctant to follow. He’s glancing at the bookshelves when Andrew calls his name, and his feet instinctively carry him out the room.

He pauses in the kitchen. Everyone’s carrying food and plates and blankets and half of the Foxes are outside already, Neil thinks, staring hard at the fridge, letting his peripheral vision count bodies in the room.

Andrew is by his side, quiet, steady. Neil waits for everyone to leave before he lets his feet carry him towards the door.

It’s the decking, and then it’s the beach. He looks at it for a second, counting to ten in his head first in German, then in Russian, doesn’t know what the hell is wrong with himself, doesn’t know whether to feel angry or upset – and then he’s just irritated because _upset _where did that thought come from – so he walks across the deck, down the couple of steps and then looks down at the sand. Looks up again at the Foxes, gathered half-way down the beach, a small fire raging against the still blue sky, waves roaring against the day, in his head, pulsing through his skin.

He steps onto sand and forces his way over to the fire.

“Neil, do you want a burger?”

He nods.

“Here we’re doing shots –”

“Don’t be stupid.” Andrew takes the shot from in front of Neil, downs it.

“Here.” A plate is front of him so he takes it.

“Sit down, or go back,” mutters Andrew, so Neil sits down. Frowns down at his plate.

He’s sitting on a blanket, but it’s small, he’s sharing it with Andrew – their knees are an inch apart – voices and the roar of the waves are crescendoing around him, he feels like he’ll go deaf from it – and creeping out from the edge of the yellow blanket – grey sand.

He doesn’t know why he does it.

“Neil?”

But the roaring waves in his head isn’t enough to drown out the sound of the fire, crackling and hot and smoke filling his nostrils and –

“Neil are you ok?”

And he reaches out with his hand, pushes fingers softly into the sand. Feels something. Wraps shaking fingers around an object and brings out –

“Oh my god is that a bone? Gross!”

his mother’s bones

“It’s not _gross _it’s biology.”

his mother’s bones

“It’s not biology if it’s dead.”

his mother’s bones

“What is that a small bird?”

his mother’s bones

“A fishbone?”

“It’s,” Neil almost coughs the word, “It’s my – it’s my –” he can’t breathe, he actually can’t breathe, he’s actually got no oxygen going into his lungs and his mouth scrabbles at empty air, and, “It’s my –”

“Shit, is he ok?”

His mother’s bones are knocked out of his hands and he gasps, “_Andrew_,” and he’s on his knees, one hand against Andrew’s thigh. “I can’t – it’s my –”

“Shut up.” A hand clasps down firmly on Neil’s neck, pushing him to the ground. He rests his forehead on the blanket, fingers digging into Andrew’s thigh, desperate to feel _anything_

He thinks he can hear voices, but he blocks them out, the thunder of the waves and the insistent roar of the fire and his mother’s flesh burning –

He can’t breathe.

“Andrew, I – I can’t –”

Andrew pulls him up then, pulls him to his feet, and Neil thinks he’s going to throw up, thinks he’s going to die, feels like oxygen is hitting the back of his mouth over and over again and it’s never enough and –

“Andrew what are you doing? He needs to lie down –”

And he’s pulled to Andrew’s chest, and he clutches Andrew’s shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto, digs his fingers into bone, hears Andrew’s quiet voice against his ear, “No one else matters. Ignore them. Can you feel me breathing?”

And he can. He’s pulled so close against Andrew, Andrew’s chest is rising and falling steadily against Neil’s shuddering panicked body.

“Andrew – it’s her – I found – in the sand –”

“I know. Close your eyes. Breathe when I do.”

So he tries. Closes his eyes. Feels Andrew’s arms hugging tightly around his back, tight enough that there’s barely room to breathe, but they’re moving together, Neil’s shuddering chest attempting to expand as Andrew’s retracts, to retract as Andrew’s expands, and he doesn’t know how long they stand there, how long it takes for his wracking body to slow down, to learn the movements of Andrew’s body, doesn’t realise he’s breathing easier until he is, until he opens his eyes and realises he can see.

In the corner of his eye, the others are in varying states of sitting and standing, of watching them and looking away. Matt is the closest, concern vivid on his face, and as Neil’s eyes meet his before flicking away says, “Neil, are you ok?”

Andrew whispers against Neil’s ear again, and Neil can feel the movement of his lips as he says, “No one else matters. Ignore them. Are you breathing?”

There’s something incredibly steadying about these repeated words. About knowing Andrew will only say things Neil can understand. It helps Neil to nod and whisper, “Yes. Yes I – yeh.”

Andrew pulls away slowly, ever so slowly, leaves his hands on Neil’s shoulders, looks up at him considering, until he’s satisfied with something and pulls away properly, tries to leave Neil entirely – but Neil grips his arm.

Andrew says, “We’ll eat inside.”

“What should we –”

“Stay.” Andrew bends and picks up their two plates, letting Neil keep his hand on his arm, turns and with no hesitation walks them back to the house. Inside Neil opens his eyes fully, frowns against the white light of the kitchen, takes in a deep breath. Andrew leads them upstairs. In the bedroom, he places the plates on the bedside table, settles them both into bed, pulling at Neil’s legs until they're under the covers, tugging Neil gently against his chest. Andrew starts reading aloud, voice low and carrying through the room, one hand methodically stroking through Neil’s hair, book resting open on his knees, his other hand picking at food on his plate – Neil’s plate laying abandoned – and Neil’s eyes fluttering closed, and Andrew’s steady voice in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i know this was a heavy chapter but i think my favourite bit was Andrew trying to decide how to wake up Neil and apparently deciding on saying "Neeeeeeeil"  
your comments are so lovely and amazing thank you for reading, this is fun if a little heavy and difficult to write, so i really appreciate all of you :) xxx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two facts about me i love you all so much and also i lie about chapter counts xxx

Neil wakes with a start, scrabbling his fingers at the mattress like he can wipe them clean –

Then he blinks, pauses, puts a hand to his throbbing chest, squints his eyes against the darkness.

Remembers.

“Mm?” Comes Andrew’s voice, half-asleep.

Neil wills his heart to slow down, says, “Go back to sleep.” He throws the covers off. There’s no way in hell he’s going back to sleep. Throws his legs out violently then remembers Andrew. Arranges the covers back onto the bed a little gentler.

“What is it?” comes the murmur.

“Nothing, I’m –” Neil doesn’t know what he is. His heart is still pounding, and he wants to wash his hands, blink hard into a blinding white light. “I’m wide awake, that’s all. Go back to sleep.”

“Mm,” Andrew says again, rubbing his face against his pillow. Neil thinks he hasn’t woken up properly, but as he throws on a sweater and makes his way to the door he hears, “Don’t leave.” He half-turns back, expecting Andrew to be half-up, but he’s where he left him, and Neil hesitates before realising Andrew just means _don’t leave the house_.

“I won’t,” he says softly into the darkness before closing the door gently behind him.

Most of the bedrooms are on the second floor. Neil hasn’t toured the place but heard the others talking – he and Andrew are alone at the top, with two doubles and two twins on the second floor, and a room with bunk beds on the bottom that opens on to the living room. No one wanted that one, so Allison and Renee opted to take the smaller double after Dan and Matt claimed couples rights on the master, and the last Neil heard Nicky, Kevin and Aaron were going to rock-paper-scissors to see who got their own room. The second floor is huge, and Neil pads quietly through the hallway, no sounds but gentle snoring. He needs something louder than that.

On the ground floor he enters the living room, shuts the door behind him and flicks the light on. _Finally_. The room is a stark, shocking yellow, and he blinks fiercely against it, images finally retreating in his head. He moves through to the kitchen and throws the tap on, finding soap and scrubbing at his hands, is grateful someone had closed all the blinds before they went to bed, scrubs and blinks and takes as many deep breaths as his lungs can manage, and _finally _his brain realises he’s awake, and alive, and safe, and she’s not here.

He wipes his hands dry and braces his hands on the counter. Wonders if there’s a radio. Forages through the cupboards until he finds some nuts and fruit, scoops a handful of each into a bowl, grabs a bottle of water and moves back to the living room.

On the sofa he lays horizontal, shrugs a blanket over himself, puts on the tv – maybe a little too loud. He hopes no one will hear it in this massive stretch of house. He doesn’t know what he’s watching, and the bowl and water lay abandoned on the coffee table, and the noise of the tv stretches across the space, expanding to fill every corner of the room, and Neil’s brain settles into the comfort, and he’s asleep within seconds.

“Don’t.”

“I’m just turning the tv off.”

“Maybe we should wake him.”

“_Don’t_.”

Footsteps retreat and the door to the living room clicks shut. Neil opens his eyes. Light is hitting the curtains, a dull yellow fading across the room. The tv is off. Neil’s limbs feel like _agony_. He feels exhausted and restless all at once, like he’s been going from zero to a hundred and back again for days now.

He’s exhausted.

He needs to move.

Neil sits up and feels faintly irritated that he fell asleep in the living room and that the others found him, and didn’t wake him. Like he’s an invalid. If he’d been Nicky someone would have jumped on him; if he’d been Matt they’d have drawn on his face.

Neil stands, stretches, and winces at how unhappy his legs are. He lifts one on top of the coffee table and stretches, then the other. Feels them crack a little in appreciation. Does a few more stretches in the room before moving to shower. He can hear the others in the kitchen, and he darts upstairs, takes the quickest shower in his life in the en suite. Pulling on fresh clothes feels like filling his lungs with air and he picks out soft grey sweats and an orange sweater, reminding his brain firmly to feel awake, and alive, and safe.

Downstairs he hesitates outside the kitchen, then swings himself in.

“Neil!” Nicky is grinning at him from his position at the counter. “You’re just in time for pancakes. What do you want on them?”

A few glances hit Neil and slide away; Aaron is at the sink drying dishes as they’re handed to him by Kevin; Allison is painting Matt’s nails at the kitchen table; Dan and Renee are placing all the toppings they can find on the table; Andrew is perched on top of the counter, holding a mug in his hands. He’s looking away from Neil, so Neil looks away from him.

“Thanks,” says Neil, trying his best for bright, wondering if it comes out over-enthusiastic. Grabs a mug and moves over to Andrew to fill it with coffee. “Whatever’s fine.”

“Kevin got you blueberries and yoghurt,” says Nicky, “because he’s a _heathen_.”

“That sounds great,” says Neil, and hates the words coming out of his mouth. “I mean – I’ll have whatever.”

He turns and leans against the counter next to Andrew’s swaying legs. Andrew taps one finger on the back of Neil’s arm, and Neil leans a little into him.

“Pancakes are already unhealthy,” starts Kevin, half-turning from his position at the sink, arms deep in bubbles.

“Eurgh, we’re on _holiday_,” says Allison, squinting down at Matt’s royal-blue nails. “Can you take a break please?”

Renee is smiling as she places the blueberries on the table. “Blueberries are delicious. I might have some on mine.”

Allison lifts her head long enough to shake it in disappointment then returns to the task at hand. When she’s done Matt lifts his fingers and wriggles them in Dan’s direction. “Well?” he asks.

Dan giggles. “They’re beautiful, sweetie.”

Matt grins at Neil, and Neil manages to smile at him. Nicky dishes pancakes onto a plate in front of Matt and says, “I’m impressed, for the straightest guy here you have _beautifully _shaped nails, bro.”

Kevin and Aaron both turn their heads, and at the same time snap an offended, “_Hey_!”

The girls and Nicky burst out laughing, and Matt shrugs apologetically. “Come on. Even _I’m _offended that I’m a 0 on the kinsey scale. You should be proud.”

“What the fuck is the kinsey scale,” says Aaron, and everyone ignores him.

“Kevin’s at least a 1, maybe even a 2,” says Dan.

“I thought it was offensive to speculate about someone’s sexuality,” says Kevin tightly, like he’d read it somewhere online.

“Sure,” says Nicky nonchalantly. “We’re just trying to help you realise your _true identity_. I’ve seen the signed poster of Jeremy.”

“Anyway,” Kevin says, somehow avoiding the actual question of his own number, “Neil doesn’t even _swing_. What does that make him?”

“Uh, that was before Andrew,” says Nicky, stepping strategically away to the other end of the table from Neil and Andrew. “I’m pretty sure banging a 6 makes him… well. Not zero, anyway.” Nicky looks uncomfortable now, like the topic of Neil’s sexuality is going to get him hit.

But Andrew merely knocks his elbow softly into Neil. Neil realises he’s been staring into his mug, swirls of coffee a little mesmorising and steam hitting his face like a personal sauna, and he looks into Andrew’s amused face, seeing something like permission, something like encouragement, and then turns to Nicky. “What’s the number for if you’re only attracted to Andrews?”

Aaron mutters, “_Jesus_,” and turns back to the sink as the rest of the kitchen descend into laughter.

“Just be grateful he didn’t say Minyards,” says Dan, patting Aaron’s shoulder, conciliatory.

They sit at the table, and Neil is wedged between Matt and Kevin, and he allows the gentle laughter and warmth to make him feel awake, alive, safe. Alive. Safe.

Sometimes when someone catches his eyes and looks away, Neil can tell they want to ask about last night. Or maybe they’ve already asked Andrew and been told not to. It makes Neil feel itchy, and he shifts in his seat, realises he hasn’t started eating and everyone else is nearly done.

“You not eating?” asks Matt. Neil glances at him to see badly disguised concern on his face.

“I am,” Neil says, picking up his fork for the first time and smashing off a section of pancake and blueberries. He stuffs it in his mouth, nausea hitting him instantly, and sets his fork slowly back down on table. “Not very hungry,” he mutters at Matt’s raised eyebrow.

“Maybe later,” Matt says, and starts talking to Neil about a movie he wants to see when they get back home. Neil lets him, lets the words wash over him, distract him from the unsettled feeling in his stomach.

After breakfast there’s some debate about plans. For some reason no one feels very bothered about hitting the beach today, and plans range from a movie marathon, to finding a gym, to baking, to having a party.

After listening for a few minutes Neil says, “Gym sounds good to me.” There are a few groans but Kevin holds up his hand and Neil high fives him, ignoring Andrew’s appraising glare.

“Well I’m not going,” says Allison, “there are waves to surf and a place to hire boards and topless instructors one town over.” Neil doesn’t comment that five minutes ago no one had wanted to spend any time on the beach.

Dan and Renee decide to join her, Matt and Nicky opt to join Neil and Kevin to drive into town and hit a gym and maybe the mall, and Andrew and Aaron look a little horrified to discover they’re the ones who want to stay home.

“Don’t look so worried,” Nicky grins at them, “the house is so big you tiny things will probably get lost trying to avoid each other,” and promptly jumps to the side to avoid a swat from Aaron.

Before leaving Neil finds Andrew in the kitchen. He isn’t sure why. It’s not like he needs to say _bye_. He just wants – something.

Andrew finishes refilling his mug and glances up at Neil, and then behind him, perhaps to see if anyone else had followed. He walks over to Neil and leans back against a chair, placing his mug on the table, and says, in a complete monotone, “Don’t run off now. Stay with mom and dad, ok tiger?”

Neil presses his lips together, but it comes out like a half-smile anyway and he says quietly, “Ok.” Doesn’t quite manage to make it sound like a joke.

Andrew nods, straightens and leans into Neil’s space, and his lips taste a little of coffee. Neil sighs into them. When he tries to pull back Andrew nips a little on his lower lip, and then arranges his face against Neil’s neck, and then they’re wrapping their arms around each other, and Neil frowns, and he squeezes his eyes shut and squeezes Andrew a little too.

Andrew says, “Come back, ok?”

Neil runs. He feels his feet slapping against the bottom of the treadmill and something settles in him that hasn’t been right in days. Two days, he reminds himself, but it feels like a lifetime. His thoughts fade away to nothing but the _slap_ of his feet and the beat in his chest and the pounding in his skin and the bead of sweat trickling down his burn mark.

On the other side of the room Kevin is lifting weights and Nicky is on the rowing machine – though mostly he seems to be watching the music videos – and next to him Matt is running, listening to something on his phone.

And Neil doesn’t think.

Neil’s not sure he’s ever been in a public gym before. Or any gym, other than at Palmetto State, where he’s spent most of his mornings for nearly two years. It feels weird to be here, and he’s on the treadmill at the end of the row but someone’s on the other side of Matt, pressing the option on her treadmill that raises the end, so that she’s running uphill, and now Nicky’s stopped pretending to row and is making conversation with the guy who was doing pull-ups, and it’s a random Monday in March, and it’s spring break, so there aren’t many other people in here, but.

Anyone could just walk in.

Neil resists the urge to look behind him at the row of cross-trainers, and instead increases the speed. He’s been running for twenty minutes, has so far kept the pace steady, but he feels too relaxed, and like thoughts are beginning to crowd his mind, so he jacks it up, feels a burst of adrenaline rip through him and pushes himself further.

There’s that moment in exercise when, if he’s not paying enough attention, Neil can suddenly go from barely breathing to not being able to breathe at all, and that moment hits him five minutes later at the same time as Matt says, “_Neil_,” urgent, like maybe colour has flooded his face and maybe he looks like he’s about to stop being alive. Matt rips at the emergency chord on Neil’s treadmill and it grinds to a halt.

Neil doubles over, gripping the bar with shaky hands, gulping in hot painful gasps of air. He’s pretty sure he’s going to be sick.

“What’s the matter with him?” says Nicky from somewhere above him.

“What do you think?” says a weary-sounding Matt.

Hands grab at his arms and Neil shakes them off. Matt crouches to his eye-level and says, “Neil, are you gonna vomit?”

Neil shakes his head, no, no, he can feel nausea whirl through him but he concentrates, gulps, lets oxygen slowly reach into the corners of his body, shakes his head again. “I’m fine,” he pants, regretting the words instantly, he hadn’t room to think, he’s on auto-pilot and Matt’s gonna say –

But Matt just sighs, straightens up. “Well I’m done. Let’s go stretch.” Matt and Nicky head off, Matt detouring to tap Kevin on the shoulder, and Neil stands up, places a hand on his chest, and follows after.

Maybe because Neil had gone hard in the gym, or because they hadn’t seen him eat anything at breakfast – or maybe because it’s lunchtime – Matt suggests grabbing food before they go shopping. On the way out to the car he throws Nicky the keys to his truck, lets him and Kevin get ahead, and turns to Neil.

“What?” asks Neil, wary, stopping and putting his hands in his pockets.

Matt considers his words for a second before saying, “You don’t have to tell me what happened in there, or last night, if you don’t want to. But – I’m here if you wanna talk. I know you have Andrew, but, it’s not like he’s a big talker, so I just wanted to say we’re here for you.”

Neil looks up at Matt’s face, open and concerned, hovering over him like he doesn’t know his place. It makes Neil uncomfortable, that he makes people look at him like that, like they’re not sure how to act around him still, and it reminds him of his promise not to lie to Matt. So he says, “No offence Matt, but you’re kind of an idiot,” and walks off to the truck.

The ride to the mall is short, and a little tense, and after a minute’s silence Nicky says, “What shall we get for lunch?”

And Kevin says, “Depends if Neil’s gonna decide he’s eating today.”

“Fuck off,” says Neil, the words automatic but void of any actual anger, “I just wasn’t hungry at breakfast, of course I’m eating.”

“After running yourself to the ground you’ll need it,” says Matt, tight, lettings his words hit the steering wheel.

It’s quiet and then Nicky says, “Uh, what did I miss?”

“What do you mean?” says Matt, clearly angry, taking a turn with slightly more force than necessary. “Didn’t you see Neil on the treadmill? He’s an idiot, he’s apparently decided he doesn’t need his legs anymore?”

Neil just squeezes his eyes shut, automatically draws his legs up into his seat, wraps his arms around them, and counts to ten in German.

Kevin says, “_Matt_.”

Neil doesn’t remember, in the immediate aftermath of – everything, of Baltimore – how much he told them.

“What?” says Matt, and Neil can’t see his expression because his eyes are squeezed shut. He reminds himself he’s awake, that seems the most important thing first of all, but for that to really be true his eyes have to be open, so he opens his eyes.

Then Matt says, “Fuck, I… Neil I’m sorry that… that was a stupid thing to say.”

“Jesus Matt,” says Nicky, a little hollow. “Can we just go _one day_ without horrifying the kid?”

“I’m not a _kid_,” Neil says, near to exploding, if it weren’t for the tightness in his chest. “Can we just go back?”

Matt sighs. “Sure, ok. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” but he aborts the end of his sentence.

As soon as the car stops moving Neil is slamming his way out of it, slamming open the front door and into the house. Thinks he hears someone calling his name but he’s moving into the living room, sees Andrew raise his head from his book and keeps going, into the kitchen, throws open the back door and within seconds is on the sand.

He’s wearing running shoes, but if he weren’t he imagines what the sand would feel like between his toes. Sometimes on tv they make it look soft, idyllic, like running through cloud. In his head it’s more like the taste in his throat – somewhere between running too hard and not having drunk enough, between screaming at the top of your lungs and choking back tears – grainy and striking and pain and _pain _and _pain_

“_Neil_.” Neil hadn’t realised he’d been running until Andrew’s hand grabs at his arm, until he shakes it off and turns, abruptly stopped by hard hazel eyes.

“_What?_” Neil snaps, aware it comes out loud and awful, no idea if anyone else is within hearing distance. “What the fuck do you want Andrew? I’m fine ok I’m going for a run, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m a striker, I’m the fastest player in the NCAA, and the reason for that is I train a lot. I run every day, so here I am. Did Matt tell you something happened at the gym? He’s a fucking liar, everything’s fine.” Neil pauses to catch his breath, barrels on, “We’re at the beach Andrew. It’s just a beach. This is just sand and it’s just – it’s _sand _– I’m fine and I have no idea what your fucking problem is but can you stop telling everyone I’m unbalanced?” Andrew raises his eyebrows. “I have not had a panic attack in _four months _and I went to Bee like you told me to and everything’s fine now. But you telling everyone not to let me run, not to let me go to the gym, not to wake me up – getting them to walk on eggshells around me, it’s ridiculous. I don’t need protecting, and you promised to stop that bullshit a long time ago. Do you understand or do I need to repeat myself?”

There’s a couple of birds flying overhead, their calls to each other just loud enough to filter through the pounding in his head, and it sounds like the sky is singing, and then he can hear waves too, crashing against the sand he’s standing on, and it’s like he’s trapped in a soundscape that he hadn’t been listening to before – or maybe wasn’t able to hear – but suddenly it snaps back to him with a jolt of colour, and noise, and the understanding that he’s barely awake, that he’s standing right where his mother died, screaming at someone he doesn’t want to live without.

It’s like a shock, and completely unshocking all at once.

Neil raises a hand to his chest, wondering if his heart is beating at all.

And Andrew is still just standing there. Hasn’t said a word since Neil threw him off. Neil is ashamed, and terrified, and his legs are shaking.

In fact everything is shaking, and he says, “Andrew I… I’m – I’m not sure what I just said.”

Andrew’s face is still hard, unflinching, unreadable, and it’s that that breaks something in Neil, and when he blinks his eyelashes feel wet, and he says, “Andrew, I – yes, can you – yes, um – can it be a yes,” and when he falls to the ground Andrew drops to his knees, wraps his arms tightly around Neil’s shaking shoulders, nothing but sand beneath them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing like a bit of kinsey scale humour to break up a fic about dealin with trauma amirite?  
no but for real this one nearly made *me* cry so uh sorry xxx


	6. Chapter 6

Neil doesn’t know how long they knelt in wet sand, him shaking lightly against Andrew’s chest, his fingers gripping at Andrew’s tshirt, knees damp and throat wet, small convulsions spreading through his body and memories hurling themselves at his brain, his heart beating rapidly and Andrew with two arms around him whispering, “You’re here, Neil,” over and over, until Neil’s body began evening out.

When his mother’s death was no longer something that could be smelled, or heard, when the memory of her receded into the single thought _blood sticking to the seats _and Neil no longer felt like he was holding the final pieces of her, he lifted his head and cautiously blinked open his eyes; felt no more awake than before. Thought he could see Kevin and Matt stood together in the distance, just off the steps of the house.

Neil felt weak, and tired, and awful.

He closed his eyes.

“Neil.”

Neil looked at Andrew, feeling as blank as the expression he saw. Andrew, the smallest of frowns on his face, his arms tightening around Neil a fraction, said, "Stay with me,” and walked Neil back inside.

Now he’s on the sofa. He’s been deposited there, like a problem no one knows how to deal with. He feels so wrung out he wanted to collapse into bed and sleep forever, but Andrew was making all his decisions right now and he was fine with that. He has one head in his hand, elbow resting on the arm – partly because he’s so _tired_, so _done_, partly so he doesn’t have to look at anyone.

The Foxes leap into action in a way that says they don’t know how to do anything else. Andrew is a silent figure at his side, a breath apart, hemming him in and keeping him upright but not touching. Neil wishes he were.

Kevin had announced, “He didn’t eat breakfast. Or dinner yesterday,” like he was ratting Neil out, and Nicky, excited at the prospect of something to do, announced he was making everyone lunch, and Aaron, excited at the prospect of not having to stick around Neil, ran to help, so now food is being piled on the coffee table and Matt is browsing DVDs, reading their titles aloud to the room while Nicky explains what he made and Aaron gets drinks and Kevin bitches about how surely fresh air might do them good and – Neil doesn’t really understand.

He feels Andrew’s fingers scratch lightly in his palm. Feels him lean in, whisper, “Want them to go?”

Neil clutches on to Andrew’s hand, sighs, lets the grip and warmth steady him as he lifts his head up and turns to look at Andrew. He shakes his head, not meeting Andrew’s eyes, not understanding anything. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Everyone’s making a fuss.”

“Shut up,” says Andrew lightly, something hard in his eyes when Neil finally meets them. “Just shut up.”

Neil doesn’t know how angry Andrew is. Thinks maybe Andrew hasn’t decided yet. Isn’t sure where what he’s done would land on the scale of bad behaviour for normal people who care about things like _blowing up at someone for no reason_ let alone someone like Andrew who’s been let down by everyone he’s ever –

Out of nowhere Neil suddenly feels like he’s going to cry. Which is – he blames on the exhaustion.

He doesn’t know how distracted the others are, decides in that instance he doesn’t care if they’re listening, leans towards Andrew a little and lets go of his hand so he can grip Andrew’s tshirt between tight fingers and says, “Stay?”

Andrew’s eyes skip over Neil’s face. He waits a beat and then brings up his hand to Neil’s cheek and brushes a gentle knuckle under Neil’s eye, wipes away a tear, shakes his head and says, “You’re an idiot, Josten.” He shuffles sideways so that they’re touching everywhere, Neil’s knees drawn up and Andrew bringing one arm around them, letting Neil bury his head into the side of Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew raises his voice and says, “Boyd. Movie.”

And everything’s a little quiet before Neil can hear the room rearranging itself.

Nicky says, “We’re watching Star Wars 4 because frankly it’s appalling Neil’s never seen a star wars movie.”

“_A New Hope_,” says Kevin, sounding irritated. “And also because it’s the best one.”

Neil smiles a little against Andrew’s arm as Nicky says, “Kevin I have no idea what you’re talking about, Star Wars 6 –”

“_Return of the Jedi_.”

“– has those adorable fucking bears –”

“Even I know what the bears are called,” says Matt.

“Go on then Boyd,” says Andrew, curling his hand around Neil’s knee, “Enlighten us.”

There’s a beat of silence and Matt says, “Ok no wait it turns out I have no idea, I’m not _that _much of a nerd.”

Kevin sighs loudly into the room. “They’re called fucking ewoks can we just watch the movie now.”

“I love that Kevin’s a secret nerd,” says Nicky, and Neil turns his head a little to see Nicky sitting on the floor in front of Neil, leaning back against the sofa, turning to grin at him and Andrew.

“It’s not a secret,” says Aaron, slumping into an armchair, “he alphabetises his DVDs.”

“Dude,” scoffs Matt, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Why am I being attacked for this,” says Kevin, claiming the last sofa spot the other side of Andrew, “how else do you arrange DVDs?”

“We wouldn’t know,” says Andrew quietly before turning his head to raise an eyebrow at Kevin, “because we’re not nerds.”

Nicky is laughing and Matt has a stupid grin on his face and Aaron is surreptitiously reading the back of the DVD and Kevin’s rolling his eyes but his face isn’t red so he’s not really upset, and Andrew is settling against Neil, lifting his arm off his knees and wrapping it round his shoulders.

When the girls come back a couple of hours later it’s to Nicky explaining his hotness rating system for a third time, and Aaron hanging his head off the back of his chair in boredom or frustration, and Kevin telling them to be quiet because a good bit is coming up, and Matt quietly disagreeing with Nicky about the rating system, and Neil has had his eyes closed most of the time but he’s been enjoying the sounds of the movie, his family, Andrew’s breath against the top of his head.

Allison says, “Movie night, awesome. I’ll go get my PJs,” and it’s only once she’s back downstairs – designer lingerie hanging out of a thin dressing gown she apparently doesn’t care about the others seeing her in – that she complains about the movie choice, and Kevin complains about her existence, and Dan complains about how little food there is left, and Renee compliments Nicky on the tacos, and while all this is happening Andrew is entirely enveloping Neil, one hand rubbing up and down his arm, head resting gently on top of his, Neil in as small a ball as he can possibly get, smirking against his chest.

Andrew is saying, quiet so only Neil can hear, “I wouldn’t do Luke.”

“I don’t think anyone is asking you to.”

“Under Nicky’s rating system I wouldn’t have a choice, look at that hair.”

Neil opens one eye to sneak a glance at Luke’s hair. “It’s very fluffy,” he agrees, having heard the three explanations of Nicky’s rating system.

“Disgusting.”

Neil removes his head and Andrew pulls his back and Neil looks at him and says, “I thought you liked fluffy hair.”

And Andrew pulls at a stray strand of Neil’s and says, “Yours is more wiry than fluffy.”

“So you like _wiry _hair.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re still touching it.”

Andrew releases Neil’s hair and narrows his eyes. “You need a haircut,” he says vaguely, returning his gaze to the screen and pulling Neil back against him.

Neil settles and turns his head to see Nicky beaming at them. “I’m sorry but you two are fucking cute.”

Allison lifts her head. “Oh, are we allowed to comment on whatever this is?” She gestures vaguely at the sofa.

“No,” says Andrew, holding out his glass to Kevin who tops him up. Neil can smell the alcohol on his breath – really, on everyone’s – and it makes him smile, makes him feel almost as silly and light as they all must do.

Dan sighs and turns to Matt. “Why aren’t we still that cute?”

“Old timers,” Matt says, shaking his head, kissing Dan chastely on the lips.

“It’s called dignity,” says Kevin.

“It’s called being jaded,” says Nicky.

“It’s called not being completely fucked up,” says Aaron.

Neil – having been living in the present, having had nothing to concentrate on but Andrew’s touch, the sounds of the movie, Andrew’s gentle breathing, the Foxes bickering, and joking, and laughing, Andrew’s voice, suddenly feels lunged back into –

And he’s not sure why. Aaron’s an asshole, and he’s used to it by now, used to letting whatever bullshit erupts from Aaron’s personality hang off him like clothes he's outgrown. But he stiffens, feels Andrew try to grip his side in warning, sits up and glares at Aaron. “What did you just say?”

The joking tone of the room falters, and Nicky exchanges a glance with Matt before saying, “Neil, he was joking.”

“No he wasn’t.” Neil is still looking at Aaron, and Aaron is looking back, like he hasn’t made up his mind about something.

“Yeh, I was,” he says, entirely unconvincingly, looks away and knocks back the rest of his drink.

“You’re an asshole,” Neil says, letting his feet fall to the floor, knocking Nicky a little away from the sofa.

Matt huffs and says, “Like that’s new.”

And Aaron spits, “Like you don’t know I’m right.”

“I’m not _fucked up_,” says Neil, hot and irritated, unwilling to let it go.

“We’re all fucked up,” says Allison, unconcerned. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“That’s not what he meant,” Neil says again. He would be standing by now but Andrew’s grip is hard on his hip, the only sign he’s even following the conversation.

And Aaron actually laughs. And it’s not the warm, friendly laugh he’s been exchanging with the others for the past hour, but something from a year ago, when Aaron was quiet and determinedly unfriendly, and although he and Neil don’t exactly speak much these days, something cold collects in Neil’s chest.

“No, you’re right, it wasn’t,” says Aaron, leaning forward in his chair. “You do remember I’m studying medicine right? I know what it looks like when someone spends four days not realising they’re suffering from PTSD.”

“Aaron,” says Andrew. It’s tight, and quick, but deadened. Enough to remove some of the oxygen from the room. Neil’s head feels a little foggy.

“What?” says Aaron, frowning. “Someone had to fucking say it.”

Andrew is too still. “What is your problem.”

“I don’t have one,” says Aaron, matching Andrew’s deadpan monotone, “Katelyn’s not here because I can’t bring her to anything without worrying you’re going to stab her, and we’re all sitting around laughing at _your_ ‘relationship’ because apparently it’s cute that the two of you are so mental no one else can stand you. What’s fucked up,” he says, voice lowering, “is that you let _him_ fuck you, so that you get to feel like the _lesser fuck up_.”

Andrew stands but Neil’s faster, and luckily Aaron anticipated him, because punching him would have been less satisfying if they were all still sat down. Aaron staggers back and Nicky grabs him at the same time that Matt surges forward to place himself between the two and Andrew pushes Neil out of the room.

“Aaron what the fuck is wrong with you?” Nicky is yelling.

“No one was saying anything!” Aaron shouts. “He’s fucking crazy and I don’t want that around Andrew, do you?”

But Andrew is pushing Neil up the stairs, so Neil lets his feet fumble up them one at a time, lets himself get manhandled into their bedroom, Andrew only letting go so he can slam the door behind them. Neil is quiet, and stands still on the spot where Andrew released him while Andrew paces up the room, stops and turns to face Neil.

“You will _never_ touch him again,” says Andrew, body tight and still, sounding like the words have been scraped out of him.

“I know,” says Neil, because he does, and Andrew’s right.

Andrew stares at him for a second longer then walks into the bathroom, slams the door behind him.

Neil doesn’t move.

He doesn’t know if he’s thinking or not. Feels like his body is still downstairs, reliving the moment his knuckles bruised into Aaron’s face, wondering if he’s fucked this up for good, if he’s fucked up, if he’s fucking up Andrew.

There’s a little light fading into the room still, and Neil catalogues the colour of the sunset in his mind. He wonders idly if this is a moment he will look back on, if the sunset in particular will stick out. Purple hues dance patterns across the white walls as the sun reels away and the bathroom door opens.

Andrew looks at Neil for a second before flicking the light on and saying, “You haven’t moved.”

“Neat observation,” says Neil, hears his own voice stripped and colourless, feels removed from the situation.

Andrew takes a few unsure steps forward then, and Neil’s not sure he’s ever seen Andrew look unsure, but his voice is flat as he says, “What.”

“Like you don’t know.”

“Don’t tell me you agree with him.”

“Well, isn’t he right?”

Andrew looks away, like he can’t make eye contact with Neil right now. Neil presses, “Well isn’t he? I mean, maybe he got some of the logistics wrong but –”

“You think I fuck you because I like thinking you’re more fucked up than I am.”

And Andrew looks livid now, in a way he didn’t even when he was warning Neil off Aaron, like that had just been a matter of course, something ugly they had to get out of the way. Now he looks like he wants to rip Neil’s skin off.

“No,” says Neil, automatic, but he doesn’t know. He wants to sit down, his legs feel shaky and unbalanced beneath him, like he’s standing on nothing but sand.

Andrew says, “You’re not more fucked up than I am, Josten, you don’t get that honour. We’re both –” he twirls a finger around by his ear. But his expression isn’t amused.

“Maybe he has a point. Maybe I’m not –”

“What. Right for me? Spare me the fucking sob story.”

“Andrew –”

“They don’t know _anything _about us.”

“That’s our fault.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “You throw around the word fault without planning on doing anything about it. It is exhausting. And you’ve never listened to Aaron before. I thought it was one of our unspoken rules.”

Neil’s breath hitches a little over Andrew’s choice of words, but he says, “I’ve never punched him before either,” aware he isn’t entirely managing to stay on track, doesn’t know what he wants out of this conversation, what he’s trying to do, why Andrew didn’t just end things with him the second he ran out the house, yelled at him on the beach, punched his brother.

“You…” Andrew stops, frustrated. Looks away and back again. “That was stupid. But then you’re a moron, this is not news to either of us.”

Neil frowns. He can feel anger dissipating away from Andrew, and he doesn’t – “I don’t get it Andrew why aren’t – why aren’t you –”

Andrew folds his arms. “Oh yes,” he says, “ask me why I’m not violently attacking you, that’s just what every –” he stops immediately, arms tightening minutely across his chest.

“I want to know why you’re not downstairs with them,” says Neil, “why you’re not angry with me.”

“I’m livid,” says Andrew, not sounding livid at all. “You made me choose. You know the rules, and you touched him anyway.” He pauses, lifting an eyebrow at Neil. “But he made me choose first.”

The room feels quiet, like the lack of natural light has sucked some of the air out, the end of Andrew’s sentence hanging unspoken, Neil realising they chose each other a long time ago now, before he even fully realised what it was they were choosing. He releases a long held breath, shuddering and stilted as it escapes, and he thinks he _might, finally, _understand. “Fuck,” he says.

“Now he gets it,” mutters Andrew, but his eyes don’t leave Neil’s as he reaches for Neil’s hand and tugs him gently out of the corner. It hadn’t occurred to Neil before how weird it must have looked that he’d been leaning into the actual corner of the walls, like a trapped animal, like letting faded wallpaper be the solid foundation at his back when beneath his toes sand was crumbling away. Andrew’s hand is solid in his and he takes a step forward.

Neil falls against Andrew and for a second they just stand there, Andrew's hands warm and familiar against Neil’s hips and Neil’s cheek resting against Andrew’s, his hands gripping his arms, thinking furiously through all the things he wants to say. But he’s stuck between overthinking and not finding a singular thread to cling on to, feels strung out and realises his head has been on fire for days now, decides instead to narrow everything down to a single focus.

“Andrew,” he whispers, like he can communicate _you matter to me_, and _I chose you a long time ago too_, and _stay_. Like it’s a prayer.

Andrew just breathes out, like _yes, yes, yes, _brings up their joined hands and kisses Neil’s knuckles. His mouth finds Neil’s and he mumbles against him, "I'm not going anywhere. Stay.”

And Neil folds into him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> where's katelyn i can't see her for all the hyPOCRISY  
no but for real i hope people like this chapter, i realise my writing can be a bit bare at times but like that's kinda my jam dunno if you noticed, hope this one makes sense... anyway andrew and neil are infuriating but they're infuriating together and isn't being a couple all about having joint goals in life xxx


	7. Chapter 7

Nothing has changed. Not really.

Neil’s fingers still skate along Andrew’s arms, skimming over his armbands, under the edges of his sleeves, into his hair. These are sites of Andrew that are almost always ok, and Neil enjoys mapping every inch of them, the feel of Andrew’s upper arms when he’s holding himself above Neil, barely trembling.

Like right now, Andrew is kissing Neil slow, and lazy, lips brushing and sending hot electricity through Neil’s skin, their bodies an inch apart. It’s driving him mad, and Andrew knows it, and that’s partly why he’s doing it.

Nothing has really changed, this is old ground by now.

And they haven’t really said anything Neil didn’t already know.

But the world has slowed down, and Neil pushes into Andrew’s mouth like he’s never done that before, strokes a finger behind Andrew’s ear like he doesn’t know how soft it is, doesn’t know how it’ll make Andrew lips tremor lightly over his.

He knows all this.

_I’m not going anywhere._

It’s like the difference between hearing a fact, like – like knowing chameleons change colour to hide in plain sight – and seeing it happen right in front of you.

Neil opens his eyes.

Andrew draws back a little, takes a second to gaze at him before asking, “What?”

Neil shakes his head, and tilts his head back to Andrew’s. But Andrew doesn’t budge. “Josten.”

Neil meets his eyes. Says, “I’m sorry.”

Andrew waits a beat and then starts to roll away but Neil holds his hands gently in front of Andrew’s shoulders – their sign for _don’t go _whenever Neil doesn’t want to physically hold Andrew back. And it’s rare they use that these days, which perhaps is why Andrew looks uncertain. Neil says, “Just – I just had to say that.”

Andrew frowns a little, looks annoyed, brings his face closer to Neil’s and almost huffs into his mouth. Kisses him before saying, “For what.”

And it’s kind of uncharacteristic for Andrew to ask for things, and that’s what makes Neil say quickly, “The beach.” His eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see Andrew’s reaction. “I don’t really remember what I said, honestly, but I know I yelled at you. I’m sorry.”

Andrew nudges his nose against Neil’s, traces his cheek, kisses his forehead. Says, “Do you want to know?”

Neil shrugs under him, still desperate for more of Andrew, holding himself back. He’s still not touching Andrew and he brings his fingers to his chest, twisting them together. He looks up at him and says, “I don’t know. Should I?”

Andrew pulls away from Neil and gives him an unreadable look. This time Neil lets him roll his body off so they’re lying on their backs side by side. Neil stares up at the ceiling.

Andrew says, “You said it was just a one time thing.” Neil frowns. “But I don’t know anymore. The way you look at Aaron –”

“Oh my god,” says Neil, leaning up on one elbow, glaring down at Andrew. “You had no friends growing up, is that it?”

Andrew still has that tiny grin on his face when he replies, “Takes one to know one.”

Neil makes a quick decision and pushes forward, pushes out, “Hey, I had mom.”

“That was a big success,” says Andrew blandly, and this is what really breaks Neil, this deep seemingly unconditional feeling of being _known_.

He’s smiling when he says brightly, “Had a big gang going in juvie did you?”

Andrew wraps an arm suddenly round Neil and pulls him on top of him. Neil falls, slightly startled, and immediately thinks to push himself up and off of Andrew’s body, but – he stops. Looks into Andrew’s steady expression. Andrew brought him here, Andrew’s arms hugging Neil on top of him, and Neil promised to himself he’d try to be more honest with Andrew. So maybe he needs to trust that Andrew is honest with him.

_I’m not going anywhere._

He can feel Andrew’s heart beat against his.

Andrew says, “Stay,” boredom settling over his features before he pushes up against Neil.

It’s nearly midnight when Neil turns to Andrew and whispers against his cheek, “Andrew.” He doesn’t stir. “Andrew are you awake.”

A mumbled, “No.”

Neil grins. It’s dark outside but the curtains are open and a thin trickle of moonlight is lighting up one side of Andrew’s face. Neil wants to kiss him, so he does.

Andrew frowns and squirms a little.

Neil pokes him.

“How old are you.” Andrew’s eyes are still closed and Neil feels a very small smattering of pride. He’s usually the one left boneless and sleepy.

Right now he’s never felt more awake.

“I’m hungry.”

“You know where the food is.”

“Come with me.”

Andrew sighs, reaches out a hand in an attempt to swat Neil away, but Neil catches it and pushes a kiss to Andrew’s knuckles. Andrew reaches out his other arm and pulls Neil against him, plants a frustrated huffing sort of kiss against his mouth and says, “If it’ll shut you up.”

“Doubtful,” says Neil.

Luckily the others had gone to bed. Neil might have time to wonder if he should feel guilty for that, if he was the one to ruin the party mood, before Aaron’s words sting through him again and he slams a cupboard door shut.

Andrew hops himself up onto the counter, mug of hot chocolate in hand, and says, “What did the cupboard do.”

Neil says. “Aaron.” Opens another cupboard and slams it shut.

“What are you looking for?”

Neil shrugs. Andrew passes him a banana and he waves his hand dismissively. Opens and slams another cupboard.

“If you keep on at that they’ll wake up and come downstairs.”

“Maybe I want him to.”

“So you can do what?”

Neil shrugs again.

Andrew places his mug on the counter and hops down, finding some eggs and shoving Neil out of the way. A few minutes pass in silence, and when Andrew is scrambling them in the pan he says, “We’re just ignoring him. I thought that was always the plan.”

It’s on the tip of Neil’s tongue to agree, to make a scathing remark about how Aaron’s not worth anything different, but. He hesitates, watches Andrew add salt and pepper and says, “He’s your brother.”

If this affects Andrew, Neil can’t tell. Andrew is working as he does at everything, in content silence, adding butter and cheese and finding plates and bread and it’s not until they’re sat at the kitchen table that he says, “Why now.”

Neil looks at him and frowns. “What do you mean?”

Andrew considers, chews his food and looks away. He’s staring outside – curtains open but the blinding light in the room and the darkness outside means he’s just looking at their reflections – and says, “He’s always been my brother.”

Neil understands and lets the boldness of the day harden him against uncertainty, says clearly, “You’re not going anywhere.”

Andrew’s expression doesn’t change, so Neil looks at his food, eats some more. He feels like he hasn’t eaten in days – guesses he probably hasn’t – and lets the heat and salt comfort him through Andrew’s silence.

When they’ve finished eating Andrew leans back in his chair and assesses Neil. This used to make Neil feel uncomfortable, but now it’s like he can see the cogs in Andrew’s head turning, likes giving him the space to do that, feels warm and safe under Andrew’s gaze.

Andrew says, “The beach,” and it sounds tentative, so Neil doesn’t speak yet, feels a tiny spark of panic start boiling in his stomach. Licks his lips. “Come outside.”

“Why?” Neil rasps, frowning. He doesn’t – it – he says, quickly, “I don’t –”

“Hey,” says Andrew, and it isn’t demanding or hurried. Just a breath of his voice, low and steadying, and Neil puts a hand on his chest like Andrew used to make him do, counts to ten in German as he breathes in, down from ten in Russian as he breathes out.

After a minute of this he asks again, “Why?”

“An experiment,” says Andrew lightly.

Neil knows he doesn’t have to, knows that Andrew trusts him to knows this and that’s why he doesn’t bother saying it. He raps his fingers against the table and says, “Um. Ok. But, I might –”

“I know,” says Andrew, because he does.

They stand at the same time and before Neil can walk off to find his shoes Andrew lifts a hand towards him, and Neil lets him thread their fingers together.

The backdoor swings open and Neil closes his eyes. He’s not sure how much he could see anyway, black blanket of sky hanging over an endless landscape of sand and sea.

He squeezes Andrew’s fingers.

Andrew says, “Open your eyes,” and then, “we’re just sitting on the swing, Josten.”

Neil turns to Andrew and looks at him, lets him tug them towards the double swing seat. They’re side by side when Andrew pats his sweatpants and takes out a pack of cigarettes.

The night is surprisingly cool, a dull chill against Neil’s bare arms, but not unpleasant. Neil draws his knees up into the seat and wraps his arms around them, and looks out to the ocean.

Light from the moon is scattered haphazardly across the water, jagged edges pulling into sudden tight gushing waves at the edge of the beach. The sea is high up the beach, and Neil wonders how far it reaches towards them while they sleep.

Neil doesn’t realise he’s been holding his breath when Andrew waves an unlit cigarette in front of his face, and Neil shakes his head. Andrew says, “I didn’t mean for you.” Neil tears his gaze to Andrew’s face and Andrew clarifies, “For me.”

Neil frowns, and then shakes his head. Andrew just nods and replaces the cigarette back in the packet.

Neil’s still not breathing and he clutches his fingers in the material at Andrew’s legs.

He gasps, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Sure you do,” Andrew says, once they’ve spent a few minutes with hands to their chests, breathing deep and slow and listening to the waves behind them. “You’re doing it.”

Neil shakes his head. “This is stupid.”

“I agree,” says Andrew, tapping one hand against Neil’s knee. “But that is what Bee is for.”

Neil doesn’t answer, but he knows Andrew doesn’t mean _now_. Doesn’t mean he _has_ to do anything, _has_ to talk to her. And anyway there’s a part of Neil that acknowledges it wouldn’t work unless he –

He decides to let thoughts of his mother push through the wall. Spends a second watching himself pull her remains from a wrecked blackened car on the blackened beach bare metres in front of him before violently pushing his back against the seat and throwing his head back and gulping down his thoughts.

Five or ten silent, desperate minutes later he breathes out, nods, and says, “Ok.”

For a while longer they don’t say anything, and Neil lets himself be distracted with looking at Andrew, sleep-rough hair stark against a dark backdrop, wonders if maybe smoke would be better than sea-air, when Andrew says, “Aaron.” It sounds a little pained. His face looks complicated as he bites out, “What do you want to do.”

Neil leans sideways into the swing seat and it sways a little, and Andrew does the same, lifting up his feet, mirroring him, until they’re both rocking in the white cold bench.

The beach is dark behind Andrew’s head.

Neil shrugs. He blinks down at his bare feet, almost touching Andrew’s, decides to start off simple. “I don’t know. I couldn’t care less about Aaron, you know that.” He doesn’t need to look up to know Andrew is smirking. “But, I just… I’m a bit sick of this.” Andrew doesn’t ask what he means, but he pushes his toes gently against Neil’s, away again, back again, like an insistent tide. “Pretending…” Neil gathers his breath, looks up at Andrew and then away, resting the back of his head against the bench, pointing his eyes towards the sea. His voice is quiet as he says, “Pretending this doesn’t mean anything.”

Andrew is silent, just curls a hand round the back of Neil’s neck, fingers and palm sure and gentle against his skin. Neil closes his eyes, and the waves rush against the dark of his eyelids, Andrew's hand on his neck the warmest part of his body.

Eventually, Andrew says, “Ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, i really wanted to get a long final chapter out today, but not having the easiest of days so i figured id split the last chapter in two and post this that i mostly wrote a few days ago. so, yeh, sorry it's so short. thanks for continuing to be such lovely readers. hedy x


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's possible i have no idea what i'm doing. it's also possible there really is only one chapter left. *insert shrug emoji*

The next morning Neil is the first awake. Leaving Andrew’s warm body, arms still wrapped around him gently the way they were when they fell asleep, as though neither of them had moved in the night, Andrew’s breath steady against Neil’s skin – leaving aside the instinct to press his face into the pillow, his body back against Andrew’s –

But rain is heavy against the roof above their heads, and Neil gives in to a different instinct instead.

Downstairs he makes a cup of tea. He doesn’t often drink it, the rest of the Foxes are too into their caffeine to really carry it. But his mother always found them cups of tea, often had a variety of loose tea bags stuffed in her emergency tupperware, alongside peanut butter and instant noodles. Neil closes his eyes as he pictures the tupperware. For years he couldn’t stand the smell of peanut butter.

He makes black tea, doesn’t add milk – they never had it on the road – and holds the mug under his nose for a moment, before lifting his eyes to the windows. He pads over to the back door and gently pries it open.

The beach is roaring. Rain is thundering down on the waves, and Neil’s amazed they’re not overflowing, imagines the place where the sky and the ground separate are indistinguishable, at least barely visible in the downpour.

He leans against the door frame, and takes in a deep breath. The air is different here – some clean, watery, salty scent in the air – and he realises how weird it is to have time to just _breathe_.

So that’s what he does. Feels oxygen fill his mouth, his lungs, his body, lowers his eyes to his cup, takes a gentle sip, blows on the liquid, raises his eyes to the beach.

Everything is pounding.

He lets himself think of his mother.

Neil is in the living room when Andrew finally appears – maybe it’s only an hour later – and says, “What on earth are you doing.”

Neil is lying upside down, legs hanging off the back of the sofa and hair brushing the carpet, flicking through channels. Neil gives Andrew a look, takes in his upside down unimpressed expression, and smirks. “_Feeling_.”

Andrew looks away fast, like he wants to roll his eyes or smirk or huff and doesn’t want to give Neil the satisfaction. “Good god,” he says. “I’m remembering why I don’t like you.”

Neil smiles properly, removes his legs ungracefully and ends up in a heap on the floor.

He grunts, limbs everywhere, attempting to straighten himself. Once he’s sat properly, legs crossed and back against the sofa, Andrew joins him, folds his knees up so that he can place them over Neil’s, so they can sit as close as possible. He pokes Neil in the cheek. Neil gives him a dead glare. “Excuse me.”

“You got up early.” Andrew’s still giving him a look.

“It was raining.”

“That’s not really an explanation.” When Neil doesn’t answer immediately Andrew’s finger curls over his ear and pushes his hair back. “It wake you up?”

“No,” says Neil, then, “Well yeah I guess. Probably. It just… I don’t know.”

Andrew runs his finger away from Neil’s ear and prods him in the cheek.

“It’s going to sound stupid.”

“As if anything you say ever doesn’t.” Andrew moves his hand as if to poke Neil again, so Neil catches it, locking their fingers together instead.

Neil takes in a breath. “It woke me up. From a dream, I think, about running in the rain. Or maybe it was a memory. Like, clothes clinging to me, out of breath, shivering from cold. And I woke up and was dry, and I just – realised I could – watch it, maybe.” He does feel stupid now, and isn’t meeting Andrew’s eyes as he says this. He rushes on, “I made a cup of tea, the way my mother would have and, I dunno.” He shrugs. “This sounds stupid. I just wanted to see it.”

After a minute Andrew says, “The rain.”

Neil nods.

Andrew lets out an exasperated sigh. “There are no words.”

Neil lifts his eyes at that, and feels himself smiling, unexpectedly. “Let me guess. Idiot?”

But Andrew is shaking his head, bringing his hand back against Neil’s cheek. “No,” he says, and kisses him.

It’s brief, soft, and Andrew holds them together for a second afterwards, long enough to mutter, “I know. It’s like realising you can stand still.”

Neil grips Andrew’s wrists, and of course Andrew _gets it_, of course he does, he’s Andrew, and Neil can’t believe that after all this time Andrew is still surprising him, still causing breath to catch in his chest, his lips to curve up in a stupid smile. He nods with his eyes closed and Andrew kisses him again.

Eventually they’re interrupted, and Neil pulls away from Andrew’s warm mouth when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He shuffles against the sofa and turns the volume of the tv up a little.

Nicky’s head appears in the doorway. “Morning!” he says, eyebrows raised. “You two are up early. What are you watching?”

Neil looks at the tv. Presses info. “No idea,” he says, reading the blurb.

Nicky grins and says, “I see how it is.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Mastermind of deception, this one.”

And that makes Nicky laugh, the sound bouncing around him as he moves away to the kitchen.

Andrew is still holding Neil’s hand, strokes against his palm as he takes the controller away from him.

Neil ducks his head and hides a smile against Andrew’s shoulder.

It’s decided they’ll have a rainy day, after Matt runs out for a swim and comes back five minutes later teeth chattering and practically running for the bathroom. The others settle around the house to read or watch tv or play games, but Andrew and Neil disappear upstairs to nap, have a long shower, lounge decidedly awake and warm in bed.

At one point Neil asks, “So are we gonna start calling ourselves something then?”

Andrew huffs. “Like what.” As if he isn’t hugging Neil’s body against him, warm and satisfied.

“I dunno.” Neil considers. “Am I your _boooyf-_”

Andrew cuts him off with his mouth. Kisses him hard, as if it’s a punishment, and moves away to say, “Do you just like the sound of your own voice? Why bother asking questions you already know the answers to.”

Neil grins and says, “Maybe I just like the sound of yours when you get annoyed.”

Andrew frowns. “Why would you like that. Wait, I’ve changed my mind,” he adds quickly when Neil opens his mouth to answer. “You’ll only say something stupid and I’ll have to leave, and it’s cold.” He snuggles further into the covers, bringing Neil’s body with him.

“But how else do I tell them you’re not going anywhere?” Neil asks, eyes closed.

Andrew licks Neil’s bottom lip, and then his cheek and Neil squirms and pushes him away. “You’ll think of something.”

They get called downstairs by an impatient Nicky who announces, “There you two are! Anyone would think you were hibernating.”

“That’s not aaall they were doing,” says Allison, who looks impressively on the way to tipsy already.

Renee smiles at them. “We’re having a party.”

Matt and Kevin are discussing drinks and Aaron is staring at the wall, and then into his drink, and then at Kevin when he returns and sits close by. Neil looks away. Folds his arms across his chest and tells himself not to feel irritated by Aaron’s presence.

Andrew tugs at his sleeve. Holds a glass in front of him with an eyebrow raised. Neil shrugs and takes the whisky and they sit down on the floor in the half-formed circle. 

For a while they discuss exy, exams, exy, vacation, and it’s Kevin’s third attempt to talk about the new recruits when Nicky interrupts, “Let’s play a game!”

There are a couple of groans but mostly everyone grins, and Matt says, “Like what?”

“If you say spin the bottle I’m leaving,” says Aaron.

Nicky smiles at him. “Truth or dare.”

Aaron moves as if to leave but Nicky holds a hand on his arm. “Nope! You cannot bail. You’ve used your veto already, sorry cous’.”

Neil feels warm. Someone’s jacked up the heating, and it’s still raining, but gentler now, a mild _tap tap _in the background, and he’s leaning a little against Andrew and thinks he’s forgotten to listen, but occasionally Andrew will whisper something to him like, “Well we already knew _that _has he forgotten we walked in on him in the bathroom,” and Neil will grin and let Andrew wrap his arm around him, and sip at his whisky, and lets himself get topped up, and then someone says, “Neil!”

And he lifts his head, still burrowed under Andrew’s arm. He says, “What?”

Allison gives him an annoyed look. “It’s your turn. _Duh_. Truth or dare.” She has a wicked look on her face.

Neil isn’t sure what’s safer. “Uh. Truth?”

“Hmm,” says Allison, tapping a nail against her cheek. “A few weeks ago I came round to your dorm, and you guys moved real fast and Andrew was sat nonchalantly on the counter but you wouldn’t even look at me. Care to elaborate?”

Neil glares at her, wonders if he’s blushing. But he isn’t, because this is stupid. He can answer this, not that it was any of their business. Presses his lips together and then says, “That’s mature.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.” Allison raises her eyebrows.

Neil rolls his eyes. “It was what you thought,” he says gruffly, downing the end of his drink.

The Foxes laugh, and Aaron looks steadfastly into his drink, as if wishing he’d finished it already, and Allison grins at them. “I _knew it_.”

“Hey wait,” says Dan, “is Neil talking about their sex life now?”

“That was hardly the admission of the century,” says Matt, grinning. “It might be too early to get excited.”

Allison shrugs and says, “Your turn Neil.”

Neil looks up and then says, “Oh. I have to ask someone? Anyone?”

Nicky sighs. “Have you even been paying attention?”

“He’s been paying attention to _someone_,” Matt stage whispers across the room and Nicky giggles.

Neil says, “Ok. Um. Truth or dare… Kevin?”

Kevin gives him a look like this is a challenge he’s ready to face. “Dare.”

“Hmm,” says Neil. He’s been around the Foxes too long, because all he can think to say is, “Um, I guess, kiss someone you find really attractive?”

“_Neil_,” says Nicky, pointing a finger at him, shock on his face. “That’s my _boy. _I am so fucking proud of you.”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “What if I find none of you attractive.”

“The person you find _most _attractive,” Matt clarifies, winking at Neil. Neil shrugs.

Kevin blushes then, and Neil pretty much knows what’s going to happen before it does. He and Andrew have discussed it. Kevin sighs, mutters, “Sorry,” shuffles a little sideways and places a gentle kiss on Allison’s cheek.

There’s an _uproar_, or there would be, if everyone weren’t trying to pretend they hadn’t noticed how pink Allison went. There’s an immediate scurry to move things along, and Neil smirks a little. Andrew whispers in his ear, “Called it.”

“Hey, I’m the one who suggested it,” Neil whispers back.

“Yeah but I’m the one who’s making money out of it.”

Neil tugs his arm tighter around his shoulder, “I should get half.”

“For having eyes?”

But then they’re interrupted because Kevin, perhaps to get some of the attention off himself, is saying, “Andrew?”

There’s silence for a second and then Neil, feeling a little emboldened by the alcohol says, “You would _dare_?” and that makes Nicky laugh so hard he spits some of his drink out.

“Eurgh,” says Aaron, wiping spit off his cheek and onto Nicky’s knee.

Kevin nods sagely, tipping back more vodka and Andrew lets out a long suffering sigh. “Why am I even here,” he says. He shakes his head, takes a sip, rubs fingers vacantly against Neil’s shoulder and finally says, “Truth.”

Kevin looks a little surprised, but he recovers quickly. He bites his lip, a rare gesture on Kevin, and says slowly, “Why _are_ you here?” When Andrew tilts his head a little Kevin adds carefully, “Why did you stay? After you and Aaron…” he falters, as if realising the weight of the question, “You could have left, after you guys… you know.”

Andrew has gone entirely still, and Aaron’s gaze at the wall is flat, and Neil feels caught in the middle, even plastered against Andrew as he is, like even moving would spark an electrical fire.

After a few moments Renee smiles tightly and says, “Well,” in that voice of hers like she’s preparing to explain why the glass is half-full.

And Dan adds, “_Jesus_, Kevin.”

Andrew’s voice is calm when he says, “Where else would I go?”

And maybe that’s enough for the Foxes, because the tension in the room eases a little, and Kevin nods, and Neil wonders if they really understand. Thinks Kevin will. Because Andrew doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have anywhere else to go – even though that’s technically true – he means that his place is here. Neil risks a look at Aaron, who is glaring at the floor, eyebrows furrowed. He throws back his drink and pours some more, so Neil does the same for him and Andrew.

When Neil’s next asked he picks dare, and the Foxes suffer a rendition of whatever pop song first comes on the radio.

Neil sits back down once the chorus is over, shrugs and says, “I told you I couldn’t sing.”

But that’s about as tame as it gets.

A little later, wondering why the edges of his vision keep blurring, Neil realises someone’s talking to him again. “Oh,” he says, sitting up straight and feeling Andrew’s arm slide off. “Truth.” He nods, feeling pretty confident this is the right decision. He looks at each of the Foxes, finds a grin on Nicky’s face and focuses on him. “Nicky,” he says. “I’m ready.” Andrew’s hand curls round Neil’s hip, like Neil is a flight risk.

“Ok, Neil,” says Nicky, as though he’s comforting a child. Dan is laughing into her hand and Kevin is returning with another bottle, in no state to judge. Nicky is shaking his head apologetically as he says, “How come you’re not attracted to Aaron?”

Aaron whips his head up. “Fuck off,” he says automatically, and Kevin is clapping a hand on his shoulder in solidarity, Allison concealing her laugh against the side of Kevin’s shoulder.

Nicky says, “Sorry man, but we were all wondering. I mean _twins_. How does it work! How often do you get to ask this shit? Would have been a waste of a unique opportunity.” He turns his face back to Neil.

Neil is frowning. “What do you mean?”

And they all laugh before Nicky says, “Well, you’re with Andrew. I assume you don’t find him totally appalling. Do you think Aaron is _fiiiine_?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Aaron punches him on the arm and Matt laughs, “Dude that’s your _cousin_.”

Neil says, “I don’t understand.” He looks at Andrew, and then back at Nicky. “They don’t look anything alike.” Nicky gestures as if he wants Neil to elaborate, so Neil shuffles a little, folding his legs beneath him and letting Andrew squeeze him still at the waist, and thinks – decides to talk, as it seems like it will be easier to sort through his thoughts that way. “Aaron’s an asshole. No offence Aaron. Actually, you know what? Offence meant. Andrew’s… ok Andrew’s an asshole too. But in a way I _like_, you know? He’s funny. He could take down any of you. Verbally. Physically. I’m just saying, in a zombie apocalypse,” Neil pauses to point at Andrew, “I would pick him.” He looks at Andrew and smiles. Whispers in a not very quiet voice, “I would come back for you. And not just because you would be good in a fight.” He considers, “Though I still maintain that’s a great quality in a person.” He looks back at Nicky. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Andrew puts everyone else’s lives above his own and that’s fucking incredible, don’t you think? Who does that! Not me. Not _Aaron_. Fuck that guy.” He tips the rest of his drink down his throat, wipes his mouth and says, “We’re all lucky to have Andrew. I think he even likes most of you, you know, though he’d never admit it. Even Aaron!” He stops, shaking his head, then looks back into his glass, disappointed to see he’s finished his alcohol and looks up to see Nicky barely containing his laughter. “Wait, what was the question?”

And the Foxes lose it, and Neil frowns a little, struggling to remember what his truth was, so he looks at Andrew pleadingly.

Andrew is not smiling, but he doesn’t look angry either. Looks at Neil patiently and says, “I think you answered it, Neil.”

“Oh,” says Neil, and smiles, feeling pleased at this. He snuggles against Andrew’s side, happy when Andrew places his arm back over his shoulders. “Good.”

“It’s your turn,” Andrew says in the same tone, and Neil looks back up.

“Oh!” he says, straightening. “Aaron. _Truth_.”

Aaron is glaring at him, like he doesn’t even want to open his mouth. Matt tries to speak but looks like he can barely breathe from laughing, so Dan pats him on the back, grins at Neil and says, “That’s not how the game works Neil, you have to ask him truth or dare.”

“I have a question,” Neil goes on. He pauses, as if considering, then points at Aaron. “When you talk, do you have any idea what actually comes out of your mouth?”

Aaron actually stands then, fury radiating off him, but Matt’s in front of him in a flash, and Andrew’s standing too, one hand still on Neil’s shoulder, and Neil’s just grinning.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Aaron snaps at Matt.

Neil stands too, since that seems to be where the party is. “Hey, what’s the problem?”

Andrew tugs at his sleeve. “I think you might be done, Neil.” But his voice is patient, not commanding, so Neil shrugs him off.

“Hey Aaron,” he says again, enjoying watching Matt having to restrain him. “Let me ask you a different question.” He walks forward, leaning dangerously towards Aaron’s face around the side of Matt. “You know I’m not _going _anywhere, right?” He raises one eyebrow, watching Aaron for any sign of reaction. “He’s it for me. You do know that, right? And we don’t give a _fuck _what you think –”

“Andrew?” says Matt, pushing an enraged Aaron back against the wall.

Andrew moves forward and grips Neil’s arm, hauling him back and behind him. “We call it our unspoken agreement,” Neil says, still grinning, “to _ignore you_, because you’re a dumb fucking asshole who has _no idea –”_

“Neil,” says Andrew, and now his voice is commanding, and everything in Neil shuts down, a shock of sobriety hitting his body as he looks at Andrew’s expression, almost as if feeling is re-entering his body, as if drinking alcohol was a break he didn’t know his body needed, and had no defence against, and only just now feels the surprise at his words hit his body.

“You’re a psycho,” spits Aaron from across the room.

“Hey, cool it!” says Matt. Kevin and Nicky are standing awkwardly to one side. Allison and Renee are still on the floor, but tense, and Dan has one arm on Matt’s, a silent backup.

She shakes her head a little and says, “Damn, Neil.” Doesn’t elaborate.

Neil suddenly feels irritated. He shrugs Andrew off and takes a few steps backward. “What?” he snaps. “You guys are the ones who wanted to play truth.”

Andrew gestures a little in the air, vaguely. “I’m not sure this is quite what they had in mind,” he says, and then he’s smirking a little at Neil, faced away from the others, so no one else catches it, and Neil releases a breath.

Andrew starts tugging Neil towards the door, but Nicky accosts them on the way out, whispers to Neil, “I think I might be in love with you,” and Dan gives him a side hug, and everyone else is on the other side of the room with Aaron.

Neil says to Dan, “He does get it, right? I’m not going anywhere. Neither is he.”

Dan smiles at him, amused. “We all get it, Neil. It’s ok.”

Neil nods. “Good.” He looks back at Andrew. “Are we going to bed?”

Andrew nods, so Neil follows him upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *has gone mad with power*  
anyway neil fucking josten everyone *round of applause*  
xxx


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love to you all as ever, you keep me going xx

Neil thinks Andrew’s smiling when he pulls them into the bedroom, but it’s hard to tell because everything keeps moving around. He reaches out a hand to touch Andrew’s mouth, so he can trace his smile.

Andrew bats his hand away. “You’re suicidal.”

Neil snorts. “I’m not afraid of your brother.” Then laughs, and lets Andrew manhandle him onto the bed. He smiles up at the ceiling as Andrew walks around the room. “He looked so... _stupid_.”

“Good insult.”

Andrew hands Neil a glass of water, and Neil sits up, taking it. He squints, trying to decipher Andrew’s expression, and says, “Are you mad?”

Andrew walks off without answering. Neil had expected a swift shut down. Andrew’s been acting like he found the whole thing amusing, but now he’s not so sure. Neil leans back against the pillows, tucking his legs beneath him, downs the water while Andrew disappears into the bathroom, comes back in sweats and a t-shirt, turns off the main light and gets into bed beside him.

Neil waves the empty glass at Andrew to get his attention, and Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Do you want a gold star?”

“Yes,” says Neil, moving to put the glass on the bedside table. When he turns back Andrew isn’t looking at him. “Andrew? Um. I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Why aren’t you looking at me?”

Andrew huffs, tightens the arms around his chest. “Jesus, Neil, I’m _thinking_.”

Neil frowns, and feels a little upset. Everything is hot and fuzzy, and having decided he didn’t care about changing for bed he’s suddenly grateful for the excuse to leave Andrew. He grabs clothes from his duffel bag, and in the bathroom leans his forehead against the cool mirror.

He spends a few minutes between dressing and brushing his teeth thinking about Andrew. This is what they had agreed to right? He can’t make the dullness in his brain sort through exactly what conversations they’d had about – about – being _Andrew and Neil _in front of the others, but. He thought they’d been on the same page. Thought this is what they’d both wanted. Suddenly wonders with a sick feeling in his stomach whether this had all been about him, and what he’d wanted, and maybe he’d forgotten to get Andrew’s permission.

Maybe it’s the alcohol that has him throw open the bathroom door and blurt out, “Was that ok? What I did? Did I… you were hugging me, in front of everyone, and, so, I thought…”

Andrew raises his head and stares at him now, soft yellow light crowning his blond hair. Neil can’t tell whether Andrew is intending to look menacing, or blank, it’s hard to tell when he’s wearing an old t-shirt of Neil’s, one side of his face lit up, hair already rustled by the pillow. When he speaks it sounds flat. “What did you think.”

In fact his tone is remarkably empty, and Neil wonders what’s gone wrong. “I’m sorry.” His chest feels tight, and it comes out hurried, and unfelt.

“Will you just come here?”

So Neil finally edges away from the bathroom and carefully climbs into bed, leaving a foot between them, folds his arms and watches the side of Andrew’s head.

Andrew’s still facing away from him when he says, “You are right.”

Neil waits a few seconds, and then awkwardly side-nudges Andrew with his elbow. “About what?”

Andrew’s whole body is tense. “Tonight. You’ve done nothing wrong. That was ok.”

“But something isn’t.” Andrew’s quiet and Neil’s trying to be patient but he’s never experienced the pounding impression of alcohol before, the slight increase of his heart rate, his thoughts, his anxiety. “Andrew,” he presses.

Andrew finally looks at him, turns his whole body to do it. Holds his gaze for a few seconds before saying, “I love you.”

Neil blinks at him. Feels like his head has been dunked below water, sound fuzzy and everything slowing down around him. He frowns. “What?”

Andrew shrugs. “And now they all know. Aaron – as you rightly implied – will always be my brother. And now he’s seen… us.” He turns away and shuffles further into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know if our unspoken agreement to ignore him is going to work anymore. I’ll figure it out.”

“Andrew –”

“Go to sleep, Neil.” Andrew turns away and switches off his lamp, and Neil stops, one hand still halfway between them, resting on the sheet, a light spot in the dark.

Neil’s tugging on his trainers when Andrew appears behind him, like he expected him to. “Really?”

“What?” says Neil, kneeling to tie his laces.

He imagines an eyebrow raised on Andrew’s face. He says, “I thought you’d be hungover.”

“Don’t have the constitution for it,” says Neil blandly.

It’s not really a joke, but Andrew snorts. “Right, because 20 years of not drinking really sets you up for having a high tolerance.”

Neil stands up, throws open the door.

“Neil.”

Neil keeps one hand on the door, fingers worrying at the wood.

“Don’t go.”

Neil closes his eyes. “I’ll be back in an hour,” closes the door behind him and throws himself onto concrete.

There are a few damp puddles from the day before, but mostly the morning is dry and soft, the sun having only just coated everything in a dreamy quality, a few cars beeping their horns when Neil is forced onto the edge of the road, the concrete there so much more satisfying and smooth under his feet than the sidewalk, sweat pooling beneath his hair and dripping down his neck, his back, thigh muscles contracting and fingers rubbing into his palms;

but it’s not until he actually nearly gets hit – had started to cross the road and jumps back when a delivery van slams on its horn, skidding round him, and Neil is forced back to the fence, one hand on his chest, that his heart finally starts beating, that he closes his eyes, licks his lips, and sits on the ground.

When he returns he’s limping a little – thinks he might have done something weird to his ankle when he ran up the grassy hill he found in that last park – and the sun is high in the sky, and the Foxes are awake.

He spends some time in the hallway taking off his shoes, hovering, starting to go up the stairs then stopping. Eventually he walks to the kitchen instead.

“Morning slugger,” calls Matt warmly. There’s a chaos of breakfast and bodies, and Neil’s eyes graze over Aaron with disinterest, finding Andrew sat in one corner by Renee, watching Allison paint her nails while Renee talks about something animatedly.

“I’m going to have a shower,” says Neil.

“Thanks for the fucking update,” snaps Aaron, slumped in his chair, eyes firmly down on a sports magazine.

Before Neil can reply Kevin looks up from where he had been reading the magazine before Aaron grabbed it. “You went running?”

“I’ll be back,” says Neil and turns away.

“Andrew, you let him go?”

Neil rushes up the stairs and throws himself head first into the shower, lets water plaster his hair to his face and neck, presses two hands against the tile and wills himself to top shaking.

Neil is not used to _downtime._ It’s a word coach likes to use whenever he’s in the mood for threatening Neil. The others get threats of marathons, extra practises, laps. Wymack doesn’t bother with that with Neil and Kevin. He threatens things like taking away their keys to the Foxhole Court, which always has Neil’s heartrate beating faster than he’d like to admit. Downtime is one of his favourite words, like he could force Neil to take a sudden interest in reality tv shows.

Andrew likes reading, smoking, observing, thinking, and Neil has always been jealous of his ability to self-entertain, self-contain. Something separate from the others, content, existing.

Neil doesn’t know how to just exist.

After breakfast Allison declares she’s going for a swim, and Kevin stands at the same time, and Aaron rolls his eyes and walks out back first; Matt and Dan whisper conspiratorially and grab a blanket and sun cream and follow not long after. Renee and Andrew had disappeared halfway through breakfast.

Neil doesn’t know how to just exist, so he’s relieved when he notices Nicky had hung back, an uncharacteristically gentle smile on his face, and says, “Want to go for a walk?”

“Sure,” says Neil, throat dry. He clears his throat, swallows and says, “Uh, the beach?”

Nicky frowns. “We don’t have to, man. We could –”

“No,” says Neil, nodding. “Sounds good. I’ll just –” he runs upstairs and grabs the phone he’d left in his room during his run, and shoves it in his pocket.

They stand on the decking for a full minute before Neil takes a deep, reaching breath, removes his hand from his chest, and steps onto sand, turning left and letting Nicky match his step. He turns his head to the ocean and thinks he can see the others swimming, or throwing a ball around. Doesn’t know where Andrew and Renee went. Maybe a drive. Maybe ice cream.

Nicky says, “So.”

“What do you want, Nicky.”

“Can’t a guy just want to spend time with his best friend?”

Neil wants to raise his eyebrows at that, but he knows Nicky is teasing. “No?”

Nicky chuckles and Neil looks up at him. “You never change.”

Neil looks away, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So what is this?”

It’s a minute, maybe longer, before Nicky says, “I just wanted to check in, you know, make sure you were still alive after last night.” When Neil looks up at him in question, Nicky clarifies, “With the whole Aaron Andrew thing.” Neil shakes his head. “Was Andrew pissed?”

Neil wants to scream. Feels words dry up in his throat, thoughts deaden and retreat. Chokes out, “_What?”_

Nicky stops walking so Neil does too, looks back to see him frowning. “Well, you’ve now punched Aaron and goaded him in the space of two days. I can’t get my cousins to talk about each other like _ever _but it’s pretty obvious Andrew still feels protective over him. I wanted to make sure he was treating you right.”

Neil looks away, which means he has to look at the ocean, which means his brain wants to wonder where their phones ended up, which means he has to close his eyes, so it probably looks a little dramatic when he replies, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Neil… are you ok?”

He is, so he opens his eyes again and barks a tight, “Yes.”

Nicky looks sceptical, holds out a hand and squeezes Neil’s arm. “It’s my fault for asking. Uh, do you wanna go back?”

Neil nods and they turn back to the house.

“So… I hope you don’t mind me saying,” starts Nicky, glancing at Neil, but he barrels on without waiting for permission, “but I’m guessing something in your fucked up childhood made you, I don’t know… wary of beaches?”

Neil doesn’t want to confirm this, but it’s pretty obvious at this point, so he just nods.

Nicky nods too, and says, “You don’t have to tell me. But thanks for, well, confirming. I just want you to know I’m here if you want to talk.”

Neil nods again, thinks maybe he hasn’t stopped nodding, and just says, “Andrew –”

“Andrew… what?”

Neil shakes his head, he doesn’t know what he was going to say, except, “Andrew knows. And he’s helping me. And he – I wasn’t – he – I wasn’t supposed to be _that _for _anyone _–” worries he sounds hysterical, so places a hand back on his chest and feels his erratic heartrate, takes in a couple of deep breaths while Nicky waits patiently. Wonders how long everyone has known about the – the panic attacks. Longer than he has, maybe.

When Neil lets his hand fall to his side Nicky just says, “Supposed to be what?” Neil doesn’t elaborate, so Nicky hums and they walk in silence. They’re nearly back at the house when Nicky says, “You know, Andrew has a habit of picking up broken people. But I don’t think he ever does anything he doesn’t want to. Um, you know, not anymore.” Nicky looks a little crestfallen at his own words, shoving his foot under a stone and turning it over.

“He shouldn’t have to,” says Neil, voice low and subdued. He doesn’t know why he’s talking – to Nicky of all people – but he’s surprised to find the tension easing a little in his chest with every word that falls out.

“When you were rambling drunk off your skull you said that Andrew puts everyone’s lives before his own. You’re right, he does, and I think the others forget that sometimes. I think you two – are good together.” Neil looks up at this admission to see Nicky still staring down at the stone he’s unearthed in concentration. “You told Aaron off for not believing in you two and now… what? You’re freaking out about what that means?” Neil is silent. “Because it means no longer running?”

Neil just shakes his head, but he feels exhausted, doesn’t know if he can find the words to explain.

But Nicky is family, and he’s sacrificing precious sunbathing hours to talk to Neil, because he’s worried about him, so Neil says, in a calm voice, “My mom died by the ocean. I burnt her body, hid the evidence and buried her bones in the sand. That’s why I had a panic attack at the barbecue, when I found – she spent her whole life protecting me, died protecting me. We slept back to back, guns under the pillow, bullet proof vests. Everything she taught me was survival. That’s what we –” Neil stops to shake his head, gather in a shuddering breath. “That’s why Andrew took me inside, and why he brought me out the next night and sat with me on the deck and – why he hasn’t left my side. He – we protect each other. That’s the deal. That’s what we are. That’s all it – that’s what I was trying to tell Aaron. That’s all.”

And he turns away and walks back to the house, the tide and his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry. blame kina grannis' "cant help falling in love", the one off the crazy rich asians soundtrack. that and e m o t i o n s. xxx


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's got to the point where there's no point saying "i think there's only one chapter left", because it just keeps not being true. so. i just wont say it.

Neil has the house to himself when he steps back inside. Nicky hasn’t followed him. He looks down at his shoes, wondering if he’s traipsed much sand inside. Feels exhausted thinking about it. Toes out of them and leaves them by the back door. He glances at the clock on the wall and figures he’ll make some food, maybe a late lunch early dinner something. Doesn’t know when Andrew and Renee will be back, or what time the others will be in from swimming. He doesn’t know where they went. Andrew and Renee. Maybe a drive. He doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter.

He’s never enjoyed cooking. It had always been about survival before, and this year it’s still felt like survival, he hasn’t really discovered food the way Andrew and Nicky seem to enjoy it, like there are tastes that effect the enjoyment of their entire day. With the Foxes dinner times have usually either meant going along with what everyone else wants to order, or going along with what someone else has cooked, or tagging along to someone else’s choice of diner.

Neil looks around the picture perfect kitchen, picks an apple out of the fruit bowl, takes a bite out of it while he scans the recipe shelf, picks a book at random. The kitchen is kind of this light brown wood effect, multicoloured floor tiles and huge farmhouse table. He gets the feeling briefly he could be in one of those pristine cooking shows Andrew likes, resists the urge to check he’s not being watched, and flips the book open at random. He checks the front cover, it’s an Italian recipe book, and he’s looking at a lasagne. Not something he’s ever tried to make before. Grudgingly he takes his phone out of his pocket and googles the nearest supermarket – inland, a thirty minute walk. Perfect. Maybe he’ll even run there. He takes a photo of the recipe, pockets his phone without checking any of the unread messages, and shrugs back into his sandy shoes.

He walks, actually. The first few steps remind him what the consequences of overdoing it are, and his legs feel sluggish in that way he hates, the way that reminds him his physical abilities have limitations that he has to manage, like he couldn’t run far right now if he had to because he hasn’t been balancing a reasonable run with gym time with good quality sleep with – and he supposes his body –

Neil blinks up at the sun, tightens his fists in his pockets.

He thinks it.

He thinks _I suppose my body is tired because maybe I’ve been having a panic attack for a week and didn’t really notice._

Thinks _Aaron did._

Thinks _Maybe everyone fucking did._

At the supermarket he has to carry his phone out in front of him and apologises silently to everyone he walks past, gets enough ingredients to make hopefully enough lasagnes for the nine of them, pauses at the ice cream but figures it’ll melt before he gets back, grabs a couple of cakes instead. He doesn’t really like cake himself so he grabs a birthday cake and a coffee cake and a chocolate fudge cake. Doesn’t feel like he has the capacity for decision making right now, but he knows the others will like something sweet.

The consequence of this is that he has more stuff to carry back than he anticipated, ends up half running, half dragging the extra bags.

Sweat has begun pooling at his brow and his legs already ache and now his arms are starting to ache too, and it uncomfortably reminds him sometimes of the light pain he gets in his limbs when he’s having difficulty breathing, like when he was on the beach, but it’s not quite enough pain to stop him thinking, _Andrew knew. Andrew always knows._

The sun is hot today, the ground finally clear and dry after yesterday’s rain, and he gets another half mile before thinking, _I have no idea what I’m doing_.

In the house he calls out tentatively, but there’s still no one here.

He’s determined not to think, determined to let the task of chopping and stirring and frowning at the recipe distract him from the lure of thinking. But he can’t help but remember watching a cooking show with Andrew where someone talked about different chopping techniques, tries to see if he can chop as fast as one of the people on the show – he can’t, and he holds a towel to the cut tearing across the tip of his finger.

Once it’s stopped bleeding – he sucks it again to be sure – he finds a plaster in the upstairs bathroom and gets on with the sauces.

No one’s appeared, and he wonders where Andrew is.

The thing is, he meant what he said to Andrew, that he doesn’t want to ignore Aaron anymore because Aaron is Andrew’s brother, and Andrew said he wasn’t going anywhere, and Neil believes him. Wants to believe him, enjoys the little surge of _something _that ripples through him at the thought. He can’t really imagine a future, because he’s been taught not to hope for anything so far ahead, but he knows that every day he’s woken up in the past year, he’s wanted Andrew there. And Andrew’s been there every day he can.

He also meant the other thing. But – has difficult forming the thought. Pauses at the hob and turns the gas off. Neil can’t remember what he’d said but he knew it was something about being more _them _in front of people. He doesn’t really know what he’d meant now. Just that – that Andrew was weird about them in front of the Foxes, and he guesses he’d been wondering why. None of it makes sense anymore. Not now that Andrew’s –

Neil spills the box of lasagne sheets and bends to pick them up. Ends up sitting crossed-legged on the floor and watching a patch of sunlight flicker across the tiles while clutching the box in his hands. He spends a few minutes wondering what lasagne is made from – _pasta? Is that egg? Would Nicky know? _– but really he’s remembering Andrew’s thrown out words.

_I love you_.

Frowns at the orange tile by his toe.

_And now they all know._

He pushes off the floor. Arranges the lasagne sheets on the first oven dish with slightly more force than necessary, throws it in the oven and gets started on the next one.

This is fucking stupid, and he knows that, and he knows to some extent that it doesn’t matter what they call it. He just thought – he thought they were on the same page, and there’s a part of him that feels annoyed they weren’t. That now he has to rearrange some of his assumptions, that there was something about Andrew he didn’t fucking know, and he thought the point of them was they knew everything about each other, and anyway what did Andrew mean he’d _figure it out_, they’d always talked about stuff like this before, stuff like Aaron and Nicky and. They strategised together. Andrew didn’t talk to the others but he _talked _to Neil. That’s what they were. That’s what he meant he wanted to tell people, he thinks. He wants them to know that Andrew talks to him, that they strategise together, that Andrew knows when Neil needs something, that sometimes they wake up holding hands, maybe, but not – not –

Neil throws the second lasagne dish in the oven and holds shaking fingers onto the third before he can settle it safely onto the final oven shelf. When he closes the oven door and throws the tea towel on the counter he wonders if six lasagnes was overkill. But at least all the sauce is gone. He sets a timer and stalks into the living room.

Where the fuck was Andrew?

He checks the time. 3:00. How was everyone else still on the beach? The food will be at least half an hour anyway. It doesn't matter where everyone is.

He thinks about getting one of the books down to read, but instead he paces angrily up and down the small room, suddenly desperate to get some energy out. He hasn’t trained in _days _and they’re going to be so out of shape, and maybe he can convince Matt to drive him and Kevin out to find a sports hall or something. But he thinks about what happened at the gym and Matt’s overreaction and –

“Neil?”

And it’s Matt, as though summoned, standing at the doorway to the living room, running a towel through his hair. Neil looks up at him and says, “Yeah?” but when Matt just raises an eyebrow he shakes his head, an attempt to dislodge his bad mood and tries again, “Sorry. Hey. How’s the water?”

Matt smiles. “Beautiful. It’s perfect.” He lets the towel hang around his bare shoulders and takes a step into the room, looking around as if he’s going to set eyes on blond hair. “Andrew and Renee still out?”

Neil nods, words caught somewhere in his stomach. What he would he say anyway. It wasn’t any of his business where they were, or when they’d be back, Andrew didn’t have to tell him everything – the fact he usually did was, was his choice. And now everything feels messed up.

“Neil, seriously, are you ok?” Matt’s frowning at him, like maybe he’s been talking to Neil and he missed it because he’s walked up to the window that overlooks the driveway, and looking back at Matt’s expression gives Neil the impression he spaced out.

“What? Yeah, of course. I made lasagne.” Neil walks back to the kitchen and hears Matt following, checks the timer but it’s only been fifteen minutes. He feels restless, and the patch of sunlight on the ground has moved from the orange and red tiles by the oven to the green and blue ones by the table.

Matt says. “So what, you and Andrew fight or something?”

Maybe it’s because Neil is already at the end of his tether, has been furiously thinking round in circles, but he snaps, “Why does everyone always think that?”

Matt holds up his hands. “Um, because you seem really tense, and were staring out the window like you could will him into existence, and…” he glances at the dishes on the counter and bends to look in the oven. “Have you made _six _lasagnes?”

Neil glares at him. “I didn’t know how many I needed to make.”

“For nine people?”

Neil looks away, feels irritated that Matt’s making a big deal of this, as if he doesn’t know Neil’s never cooked anything more complicated than a fry up.

“Ok, ok, sorry,” Matt says and Neil glances back. “You know what? Six is perfect. That’s two each for Nicky and Kevin, they’re growing boys.” He tries a grin and Neil rolls his eyes gently and Matt laughs.

Matt grabs two bottles of water from the fridge, throws one to Neil and sits down at the table. “Ok so, everything is ok?”

“Why do people keep asking me that,” mutters Neil, sitting down cautiously at the table, unscrewing his bottle.

“Look, no offence Neil but you’re sort of bringing it on yourself this week.”

Neil drinks his water and doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not saying that to make you uncomfortable,” Matt goes on, leaning back in his chair, exposed torso dripping everywhere. “But I’ve never seen you cook before. I’ve never seen Andrew hover this much, the score count on touching alone is _insane_ –”

Neil scowls at him. “You’ve seen us touching before.” Matt shakes his head and Neil looks away. Looks up again and asks, “Really?

Matt shrugs but he says, “I mean yeah like here and there but not – you should have seen Andrew’s face after uh – after the gym, and then – I don’t know what happened on the beach but after Andrew brought you back in. It looked like he would stab someone for even _looking_ at you. He put you on the sofa and didn’t let you go.”

Neil nods. “Yeah,” he manages. He leans back in his chair and looks out the open back door. “I guess…” he takes a deep breath and then takes a plunge, eyes firmly on sand and ocean and the distant figures of his friends. “I guess I forgot you didn’t know what Andrew was like.” Matt doesn’t say anything, and Neil supposes he must be acting like an easily startled animal, or maybe Matt’s just never tried to get Neil to open up about him and Andrew before, didn’t think it would actually work, and now Neil’s desperately trying to work out what him and Andrew even agreed to tell the others. Feels irritated that they never have actual conversations just – but he thought they didn’t have to, thought they both always just got it. So he works with what he has and says, “We have each other’s backs. Always. That’s – that’s the point. I thought that was it. I thought that’s what we were.” He takes a breath and thinks about his mother, and says, “The only person who’d ever told me they loved me was my mom.”

He doesn’t need to look at Matt to know he’s got his attention. Matt lets out a very delicate, “Hmm,” and Neil hears him gulping down what must be the rest of the bottle before Matt clears his throat and says, “And now?”

Neil frowns down at the table, pushes the plastic of his bottle in and out. He thinks, _We always had each other’s backs, that was the point_, and says, “I thought that was the point but – I wanted everyone to understand. I know not everyone gets him, I know you probably think he’s –”

“No,” Matt says, managing to sound both firm and gentle, and Neil still can’t look at him, and he adds, “It doesn’t matter what I think, Neil. What do you think?”

Neil starts peeling off the label. He waits a few seconds before saying, “I think he’s amazing.”

He thinks he can detect a grin around Matt’s, “Ok,” and is glad he isn’t looking at him. “So what’s the problem?” Neil worries his finger some more at the label. He doesn’t know. That’s the whole fucking point. If he knew there wouldn’t be a problem. “Has he… said something?” Neil just feels stupid now, thinks that probably no one else has this problem, has seen enough of this in the movies he’s forced to sit through, thinks he doesn’t need a lesson from Matt on what fucking love is right now. Knows at some level he never learned the same stuff everyone else did. Thought that’s why he and Andrew – thought Andrew _understood _that –

Matt says, “Ok, Neil,” and slowly pulls the water bottle away from him. The label is dangling half off, scraps of paper fallen to the table, and the bottle is completely misshapen, and he blinks at it before releasing his tight grip. Matt says, “Look I don’t know what’s happened, but – don’t look like that – something’s obviously happened man, Andrew hadn’t left your side since we got here, and now you don’t know where he is. Something’s happened, and you don’t want to tell me, and that’s fine. But if it’s about the two of you, I think – I think only you guys get to decide who you are. It’s not about your mom, or Aaron, or me. And no offence, but that's clearly not all you guys are." He pauses before adding delicately, "I don’t think it has to feel less, just because it’s different.”

Neil says, “I have no idea what I’m doing,” because it’s the truth, and because Matt’s insight has blindsided him.

Matt grins as Neil finally makes eye contact with him. “No one does.” He kicks Neil’s chair leg until Neil turns his body so they’re facing each other. “Seriously Neil. Everything seemed fine at the start of the week. I don’t know what’s happened but… nothing has to change.”

Neil nods. He feels exhausted. “Except,” he starts. Frowns and manages, “I... I told him I’d talk to Bee. Just - just so you know.”

Matt freezes for a second and then lets out a great sigh. “Well thank god for Andrew.” And then he laughs, and Neil’s not sure he’s ever heard such warmth from Matt when discussing Andrew before, and it makes him grin, and then he’s shaking his head a little at Matt’s laughter as his friend stands up to check the lasagnes, and he lets the discussion of browning cheese and bubbling sauces wash over him as Matt’s words echo in his ears.

They’re still talking about lasagne – and every other Italian dish Matt is now determined to teach Neil how to make – when Andrew and Renee get back.

They pause in the doorway, and Matt and Neil pause too, and Renee says, “That smells delicious.” She clearly eyes the three lasagne dishes on the counter and says, “Are we having lasagne?”

“For days,” Matt says, and Neil kicks him in the shin.

“Who made them?”

“Neil did.”

Renee smiles at him. “Well it smells great, and I’m starving. Shall I go tell the others we’re eating?”

“Yeah,” says Matt, not so subtly standing to leave with her.

So Neil looks at Andrew. “Hey.”

Andrew meets his eyes, finally, crosses his arms and then uncrosses them, grips the counter behind his back. “Hello.”

“Did…” Neil pauses. Stands up. “Did you have a nice time with Renee?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. Neil feels stupid. “Yeah,” he says, a low drawl, and Neil tries not to smile, “We had ice cream. My world has been thoroughly rocked.”

Neil feels the edge of his mouth lifting, and is pleased when he sees Andrew’s eyes dropping to his mouth before looking away. Neil feels nervous and he doesn’t really understand why, so he says, “I made lasagne.”

Andrew looks at the counter, then back at Neil. “I can see that. Who helped you?”

“No one,” says Neil. Andrew narrows his eyes at Neil, lets go of the counter and walks to the opposite side of the kitchen to inspect the dishes.

“I’m not eating it,” he announces. Neil moves to join him and frowns down at his creations.

“Why not?” he asks, trying to see if they look… he doesn’t know what an inedible lasagne would look like. “What’s wrong with them?”

“It might be poisoned,” Andrew says, folding his arms and sniffing the lasagnes suspiciously. “This could be an old family recipe.”

Neil looks sideways at him. “An old family recipe. From the Wesninskis?”

Andrew nods. “Never trust a gangster.”

“With cooking?”

“With anything,” Andrew says, looking up at him finally, “but especially with cooking.”

Neil laughs, and Andrew looks a little surprised, some of the tension lessening in his frame, and he unfolds his arms and lets one hang by his side. Neil says, “Well I guess that’s Uncle Stuart off the Sunday lunch guestlist.”

Andrew’s blank expression is about as flabbergasted as it gets when he says, enunciating each word carefully, “We have a Sunday lunch guestlist?”

And Neil’s heart contracts. His throat is dry and he feels every screwed up knot in his chest uncurl and suddenly all he wants is to be closer to Andrew, and he lifts up a hand slowly, unsure, needing to check, rolls his thumb over Andrew’s armband and says, “Andrew?” but then Andrew’s fingers are in his hair, pulling him forwards and against him, and Neil lifts his hands up around Andrew’s back, lets Andrew determine the tightness of the hug, which is apparently very tight because they hold each other like they haven’t in days and are uncertain when they’ll next get to, and Andrew smells like sea salt, and chocolate ice cream, and something undeniably _Andrew_, and Neil presses the side of his cheek against Andrew’s head, and takes in the biggest breath he has all day, feeling it edge into the corners of his lungs, his abdomen rising against Andrew’s, feels Andrew’s own shuddering breath course through his body in return.

Neil closes his eyes tightly and, in Russian, whispers, “_I missed you_.”

After a beat, Andrew lets out a small sigh. When he replies it’s in English, the words no more than a murmur from his lips into the skin of Neil’s neck, but it makes every hair on his skin stand on end. Andrew says, “I’ll say it as many times as you need, Neil. I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> v sorry for the delay in getting this one out! life is complicated. neil totally agrees. what is up with that. xxx


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hi it's me, how ya doing. enjoy lasagne fest x

Neil lets himself smile as he watches Andrew arranging food on the table; half the lasagnes at one end, the chocolate cake at the other, while Matt tries to fit the rest in the fridge.

Matt says, “You couldn’t have picked stress knitting?”

Andrew grunts out, “That’s not better.”

Matt looks up from halfway inside the fridge, looking surprised to be spoken to. He flicks a smile at Neil and replies, “I dunno, think about the amount of orange scarves we could get outta him.”

“I am,” says Andrew, sounding morose, and Matt laughs.

It makes something warm spread across Neil’s skin, and he lets himself sit with it a moment, lets the words run through his head a couple of times, watching Andrew and Matt, wondering if this is what it means, this feeling, and when Andrew catches him smiling at them he huffs and comes over to Neil and flicks his ear. “Stop it.” Neil can see Matt watching them with interest, but rests all his attention on Andrew. Andrew says, “Set the table or go away.”

“It’s always binaries with you,” Neil mutters, rubbing his ear.

“I find you work better when given clear options.”

Matt’s not even bothering to conceal the noise of amusement that escapes his mouth as he’s getting plates out the cupboard. “Nice,” he says, “thanks for the tip.”

Andrew turns his face to glare at Matt, and Matt’s facing away from them, so Neil gives in to a sudden impulse and kisses Andrew lightly on the cheek. He looks down at his feet as Andrew turns back, tucks his fingers over the edge of the counter behind him. Doesn’t know what’s got into him, except an acknowledgement of the sudden desire to continue to be in the same room as Andrew for as long as possible, the same space. A desire to get as close to the thought as possible, without knowing how to say it. Neil hadn’t realised how out of sorts he’d been without Andrew, and it bothers him. He frowns, thinks maybe only a few seconds has passed that Andrew has been considering him, and Matt’s been putting out plates on the table, maybe not noticing the silent conversation, maybe giving them space to have it.

He doesn’t want to be clingy – and him and Andrew have always worked best when they can be their own person – and he certainly doesn’t _need_ him – in fact can’t, feels like he’s probably promised at one point not to make Andrew his answer – though he’s not sure whether or not that still applies – and maybe it’s not that Andrew left, but what Andrew said –

Andrew wraps a hand slowly around Neil’s waist, and kisses the tip of his ear. “Set the fucking table,” he mumbles against his skin, before moving away and out the back door.

Neil thinks he must look like an idiot if Matt’s raised eyebrow is anything to go by. He thoroughly ignores him in favour of trying not to smile and getting out enough cutlery.

Lunch/dinner/“Lasagne Fest” (as dubbed by Nicky) is a messy affair, and Neil lets his friends joke loudly at his expense, barely even notices the ribbing because Andrew is sat next to him, leg an inch apart from his, and he’s still thinking, still trying to sort through his racing thoughts, only remembers to actually eat because Renee smiles patiently at him and says, “This is very good Neil, thank you. Are you going to try some?” and Neil finds it hard to say no to Renee. He notices a slight tension in Andrew relax as he picks up his fork.

He tries a bite. “Yeah, it’s ok,” Neil says, surprised.

“Wow,” says Dan, “was that a positive opinion from Neil about food?”

Matt grins. “Next thing we know he’ll like a movie we watch.”

Neil just lets them talk; it’s often like this, letting the words of his friends wash over him, a sound he’s come to find relaxing, something to drown out the silence, or the buzzing of anxiety, or the paranoia.

Though the last one isn’t really an issue anymore.

Neil glances at Andrew. “You ate it.”

Andrew shrugs, continues cutting his lasagne into small pieces before funnelling them into his mouth. “I decided to risk it.”

“Wow, I’m honoured.”

“Don’t be,” Andrew says, flicking his eyes up at Neil, “I was hungry.”

“Hungry enough to eat the food of gangsters?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow and lowers his voice. “I figured you’d try to concentrate the poison on one plate in particular.”

Neil follows his gaze over to Aaron, who looks like he’s having a hard time reconciling his enjoyment of the food with the fact that Neil made it.

Neil leans his elbows on the table so that he can hide the smile on his face. “You got me,” he mumbles behind his hand, “Two years and I finally worked out how to do it.”

“It’s clean,” Andrew says, nodding solemnly, but when Neil looks at him there’s a hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. “No one will suspect it. Sure, you dislike him, but no one would suspect you’d risk this much collateral.”

“Only you know the real me,” Neil says, removing his hand and turning to look directly at Andrew.

Andrew puts his fork down and picks up his water glass. “Lucky me,” he says, and Neil grins at him.

“Hey,” calls Nicky, putting his fork down and frowning. “No plotting at the dinner table. Isn’t that a rule? It should be a rule.”

“Dinner with you was never any fun,” Andrew says, pitching his voice a little louder, and Neil – who likes every version of Andrew – nonetheless always gets particular enjoyment out of the surprise on the Foxes’ faces when Andrew decides to join in on conversation. It’s only because Neil has practise watching Andre that he thinks Andrew’s making a quick decision before saying, “When else were we supposed to do our plotting.”

It’s flat, and he doesn’t look at Aaron or Nicky while he speaks, and he’s back to looking at his food before Aaron has even worked out that Andrew’s made even the barest attempt at a conversation that includes him. There’s a couple seconds’ quiet, Neil figures everyone’s waiting to see if Aaron takes the bait. Aaron eventually blinks, frowns, and says, “I dunno about you but the rest of us did our plotting at the _gym_.”

Nicky nods solemnly, waves his hand as if to say, _of course_, and adds, “Makes sense. Andrew thinks best on a full stomach, and Aaron thinks best –”

“When he’s running away from something?”

It happens fast, and Neil isn’t quite sure what made him say it, except – he thought it would be funny. He sort of forgot that him and Aaron weren’t friends at the moment, because Aaron glares at him and says, “Was that supposed to be funny?”

So Neil looks at him and says, “Well. Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence before Matt says, “Ok first cooking and now he’s making a joke? I can’t handle this babe,” turning to Dan, “there’s so much change, all at once.”

And then everyone’s laughing and talking over each other, except for Aaron, who is half-glaring at Neil and Andrew, half-looks whiplashed, so Neil takes Andrew’s hand under the table and squeezes it, once.

After lunch/dinner/”Lasagne fest”/“Neil’s Breakdown” (as dubbed by Kevin), while the others are washing up and clearing away, Andrew turns to Neil and says, “You know, it’s a lovely day for a little exposure therapy.”

Neil rolls his eyes, glances down at his legs and clenches his jaw, crosses his arms and digs his fingers a little into his arms. “I’m not looking to solve this in a week.”

“Hmm,” says Andrew, and then leans forward so that his cheek is resting against the side of Neil’s head. “But it’s such a nice day. For a little exposure therapy.” The words are so bland coming from Andrew’s dulled monotone, at odds with the intimate gesture – except that Neil knows Andrew, knows this isn’t really at odds at all, closes his eyes as he feels Andrew shift his head a little to kiss Neil’s hair – and Neil can’t help but smile, lets an aborted response turn into a puff of air, shakes his head but stands when Andrew does nonetheless.

On the deck they sit on the swing seat, feet tucked up – Neil with his arms wrapped around his legs, Andrew cross-legged and passing his pack of cigarettes between his hands.

Neil says, “Go ahead.”

So Andrew shakes one out, lights it up, doesn’t ask again – as Neil knew he wouldn’t – and Neil watches the smoke curl in a haze around them.

The voices of the Foxes provide a dull buzz behind them, the sea an insistent drone ahead, and Andrew says, “Does it hurt?”

Neil frowns, tugging his gaze away from the sand and back to Andrew. “Does what hurt?”

Andrew considers his words, takes another drag, and as he breathes out says, “Being here.”

Neil looks away. He doesn’t think Andrew requires an answer immediately, and isn’t sure what the answer is anyway.

Nicky comes out first, grins at them and sits on one of the chairs opposite. Kevin joins him with a pack of cards and they rope Andrew and Neil into a game Neil’s been made to play before, but nonetheless finds a little confusing. He mostly watches the others, does what Andrew tells him to, lets Andrew cheat off his hand when they can get away with it. And then Allison is sitting cross-legged next to Kevin’s chair, and Kevin is holding his hand of cards where she can see it, and Neil nudges Andrew gently with his elbow when Kevin moves to whisper something in Allison’s ear. Andrew raises eyebrows at him and then taps one of the cards in his hand.

Neil plays it, and wins.

When he glances inside, letting Nicky, Kevin and Allison argue about who came second, it’s to see Aaron, Matt, Dan and Renee sat round the table, drinking and talking, and Neil looks back at his group, and then looks at Andrew and leans against him, dipping his head into the crook of his neck, closes his eyes and breathes in Andrew and sea air and cigarette smoke. He says, “Yeah.”

Andrew hesitates just for a second, before nodding and saying, “Ok.”

“Less than it did.”

Andrew doesn’t respond to that, but he does lift an arm to wrap it over Neil’s shoulder, leaning back into the seat, and stilling, and Neil loves these moments, where they can just be quiet, but together, and usually they’re alone but Neil keeps his eyes shut and lets the sounds of the ocean – so often fused with a pounding in his ears and the screech of tires and his mother’s horrible gasping noises – drift in and out of Nicky and Kevin’s bickering, Allison’s indignant interjections, soft conversation from just inside the kitchen, the gentle tickle of breath against his hair.

Neil lets himself think, _It hurts, being here_. Lets himself think, _She died here_. Lets a shudder pass through him and feels Andrew’s arm tightening a little around his shoulders, fingers scratching gently over his arm. Thinks about Andrew saying _It’s a lovely day for a little exposure therapy_, and, _I’m not going anywhere_, and _I love you, and now they all know._

Neil lifts his head and looks at Andrew. Andrew is looking at him like, _what? _and Neil wants to say it, and thinks Andrew knows that, and feels frustrated with the effort of not saying it, doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. Frowns and feels angry at himself, caught between feeling like he’ll never be able to speak again and knowing there’s a rush of stuff that wants to hurl itself out of his mouth at Andrew, wants Andrew to _know._

Andrew pulls his arm up behind Neil’s neck, pulls him forwards, kisses him, and whispers, “I know, junkie, calm down. I know.”

The others are a little quiet, but Neil doesn’t care, arranges himself against Andrew’s shoulder, holds him close and says, frustrated, low, “I want –” But nothing happens, the sentence doesn’t finish, and he grips Andrew’s hoody between his fingers.

“Jesus,” Andrew breathes against his neck, “I should have known better than to give you two aneurysms in one week.” But he brushes his hand down Neil’s back.

“I’m sorry,” says Neil. “You shouldn’t have to – I’m –”

“Shush,” says Andrew, voice not quite flat enough to hide the warmth, and anyway the kiss at Neil’s neck would have given it away, so Neil draws away and is grateful for the sharpness of Andrew’s gaze, the absolute surety, and pulls away properly and arranges himself at the corner of the swing seat. He straightens his legs and lets Andrew arrange them on top of his own, and closes his eyes, leans back, and breathes out.

Andrew’s been playing with Neil for hours, little strokes to his legs on the swing seat, and to his palms inside once the sun had set, and against the small of his back while they watch a movie and play another card game, and fingers running up and down his arm while the Foxes play games and talk and drink and Neil abstains, watches with interest as Andrew mostly does too, something hard running through his body when his eyes meet Andrew’s after Andrew waves away Kevin’s attempt to top him up, as Andrew’s mouth curls.

When it’s close to midnight Neil links his fingers into Andrew’s and stands up, tugging him away from the others while they’re preoccupied with some game that involves guessing Kevin’s sexual history, a game that initially had him hiccup out an objection until Allison decided they could guess hers too, and suddenly it had become a challenge, and an opportunity to continue the strange game Kevin and Allison were playing, and whilst entertaining enough Neil was done.

Upstairs he closes the door with Andrew’s body, the gentle push against Andrew enough to click the door shut, and cups his head as he kisses him. Andrew kisses back, his hands curving round Neil’s hips, but says, “Problem?”

“You’re an asshole,” Neil says, kissing Andrew along his jaw and back again, tasting his lips and his cheek and kisses his eyes and his nose and his ear –

Andrew brings his hands up to grab Neil’s hair, to hold him still and push into his mouth, and push his body away, and Neil lets him, moves his hands to Andrew’s sides, wraps his fingers in his hoody, pulls a little and Andrew pulls away to let Neil tug it up and over his head, and then Neil’s fingers are reaching under Andrew’s tshirt and Andrew’s are in Neil’s hair again, and Neil is panting when he says, “You’re an asshole.”

And Andrew says, “I hate you,” and pushes him gently down onto the bed, pulling his sweater off with little dignity.

And Neil lets it go, throws it across the room, pulls Andrew on top of him by the back of his neck and says, “Andrew, I – I –”, and lets Andrew stroke a thumb over his cheek, and his hand into his hair, and his tongue into his mouth, and his hips against Neil’s, and lets the world fall away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this slow but it feels like it should be, ya know? neil is damaged, and frightened, and determined, and i'm letting him figure stuff out at his own pace. which means it's taking longer than i thought it would. sorry if it's a little all over the place, but i'm absolutely loving writing this and reading your comments, it means a lot to me that you've read this far xxx


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing's explicit in this, but there's some implied Stuff. no warnings, but please let me know if i've got the rating wrong.  
also, apparently I've decided to make a short fic of mine "it's all semantics isnt it" a bit of background conversation to this chapter. you dont have to have read it to understand, but just so you know, in case you want to :) x

Neil doesn’t sleep.

He watches Andrew: his face blank, like it is when he’s awake. Pale eyebrows resting delicately on top of his eyes: not delicately, assuredly. Unclothed, uncovered chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly, holding himself closed-off and still. His arms are uncovered at night, and though Neil tries not to look at them, sometimes he can’t keep his eyes from tracing the silvery lines on his wrist.

His arm is laying parallel to Andrew’s, a heavy weight in the bed. He doesn’t look at the twisted lines on his arm.

He feels tired, but alert. Heavy, too heavy to sleep. Like he’d never wake up again. He frowns at Andrew, and tries to think the words.

He can still feel Andrew’s touch on his skin, between his legs, a ghost of fingers in his hair.

Remembers a conversation they had once about happiness. Andrew had said to him _this doesn’t make me unhappy _and the world had come into sharp focus. Before then, they’d both known. That this wasn’t nothing. Since – Baltimore; it had no longer been a question, no matter what things to the contrary Andrew sometimes said. It had no longer been a question.

They were used to speaking with their bodies. There was something surprising and painful in putting words to thought.

Neil holds his head stock-still against the white pillow, unable to move his gaze away from Andrew’s face, imagines instead the swirls of white pattern above him, and tries to catalogue the facts.

Some time later he levers himself gently out of bed, careful not to rock the mattress. Thinks Andrew will probably wake anyway, he usually does, but he doesn’t say anything as Neil pulls on a tshirt and sweatpants and leaves the room.

He stops outside Aaron’s room, trying to make a decision. Neil has no idea what time it is. He pushes gently at the door and looks inside. Aaron and Nicky are sleeping on twin beds pushed to opposite sides of the room.

Neil closes the door again and moves downstairs instead.

He stands still in the kitchen and then lays on the sofa and then watches the driveway out the window and then fingers at some of the spines of books; he spends a while trying to remember what book Andrew had been reading to him a few nights ago; he gives up and instead makes a small pile of books on the coffee table he thinks Andrew would like; maybe they’ll take them; owners of a holiday home this size won’t miss a couple books.

He leaves the books downstairs and showers in the communal bathroom. He uses candy soap that he thinks belongs to Nicky, and towels off using what he hopes is a spare towel.

Steam hangs thick and heavy and warm in the bathroom, and Neil dresses and sits on the floor, rests his chin on his hand on his knee. Tries to catalogue stuff he thinks is true.

When he stands up, the mirror is a little clearer. He faces it, and peers through fog at his own reflection. 

Neil wonders whether Nathan will be staring back at him forever.

He reaches out a hand and smears it across the glass.

Takes in a light breath.

Nathaniel was Nathan’s son, bar the muscles; Nathaniel was slighter, face lighter, but they shared the same wiry auburn-red tufts of hair, the same pinch of ear, nose, eyebrows, lips.

Nathaniel wears the scars of being Nathan Wesninski’s son; on his shoulder, across his chest, his stomach; his head. Neil knows, because he has the same ones. It’s one of the things they have in common.

Neil tries to catalogue anything at all that will stop the clench of taut muscle at his stomach.

After a second he takes in a deeper breath and blinks at his faded reflection, spoiled with condensation, and touches a hand to the circle of slightly raised, pink skin next to his eye. He feels the bump of skin. It doesn’t hurt, of course, but his fingers flinch away as if it does.

He leaves the bathroom.

Upstairs, Andrew is still asleep, but he’s turned round, body parallel to the edge of mattress. Neil crawls in to the bed next to him and looks at the back of his neck, his hair smeared against the pillow, his arm resting on top the comforter; wants to reach out but never would. Still feels completely undeserving of this, Andrew’s trust, and stillness, back to him, completely unwary, completely still and strong and amazing. A grey shimmer lights up the side of his jaw and Neil can’t look away.

Neil wants to touch him, but instead he lays his marred arm inches away from Andrew’s back, and finds his breathing evening out, and falls asleep.

Neil wakes up to a tickling sensation on his nose. He tries to scrunch it away, and when that doesn’t work he jolts his head back and opens his eyes. Blinks until sense floods his brain. Andrew’s finger is laying suspiciously close to Neil’s face, his face a hovering distance behind.

Neil frowns. “Morning.”

Andrew pokes Neil in the cheek, scratches down to his mouth and pulls a little at his lip. “Bored.”

“Clearly,” says Neil, peeling Andrew’s finger away from his mouth and enclosing his hand in his own. He yawns and Andrew covers it with his other hand. He shuffles forward and replaces his hand with his mouth.

When Neil has a little of his breath back he pants, “How bored?”

“Bored enough.”

Andrew wraps one hand around Neil’s back and one into his sweatpants and Neil gasps, surprised with the speed and heat, is distantly pleased he washed last night away. Says, “Fuck, Andrew.” Scrunches his face against the initial discomfort that’s quickly replaced with spreading warmth and heavy breathing.

Andrew’s arm is a solid presence around Neil, he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, can’t imagine ever wanting to move again. Grips his hands desperately at Andrew’s shoulders and breathes into his neck. Feels completely overwhelmed and hot and desperate. He’s vaguely aware of murmuring into Andrew’s shoulder, neck, jaw, mouth. “Andrew – Andrew – yeah, I – fuck – I –”, and Andrew’s replying kisses, low noises of approval, of affirmation, his other hand at Neil’s back completely still.

When some complex thought returns to Neil, Andrew is staring at him, a hand that’s clearly already wiped itself on Neil’s tshirt playing at his hem, stroking little circles into his skin. Neil smiles a little a him. “Still bored?” Andrew shrugs. Neil shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Andrew pulls away. “Takes one to know one.”

As he leaves the bed Neil sits up, indignant. “That makes no sense.”

“Takes one to –”

Neil throws a pillow at Andrew’s retreating back, and it falls to the floor as Andrew shuts the bathroom door behind him.

While Andrew’s in the shower Neil changes his tshirt and nothing else, heads downstairs and is surprised to find Aaron in the kitchen, standing at the stove, flipping pancakes.

For a second Neil considers just leaving, not even being subtle about it. Spends another second feeling self-conscious he hasn’t washed. But then Aaron turns his head, sees him, and looks back at the pan. There’s a small stack of pancakes on a plate next to the hob.

Neil crosses his arms, unfolds them, pushes himself into the room and turns the coffee machine on. He gets out two mugs and, after a moment’s hesitation, a third. While the coffee machine warbles he collects milk and sugar and a small spoon and stands at the counter, glaring at the machine. Listens to Aaron’s small movements behind him.

Eventually the coffee is ready and Neil pours out three mugs. He stirs sugar and milk into one and takes a second, leaving the third on the counter for whoever to do the fuck they want with.

Upstairs Andrew is sitting in bed playing on his phone, and takes his coffee with a little nod at Neil.

Neil sits cross-legged opposite Andrew so they’re mirrored and says, “So, have you figured it out?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow and blows delicately at his coffee.

“Aaron.”

Neil feels a little uncomfortable, but he’s not sure why. Actually he knows exactly why. Dislikes referencing a conversation he only feels capable of dealing with one half of.

Andrew looks at his coffee, lets his phone drop to the covers so he can wrap both hands around it, and says, “That was a stupid thing to say.”

Neil wants to ask _which part_, but he says, “Yeah?”

Andrew is still, contemplative. After maybe a minute – after a sip of Neil’s too-hot coffee, regret lingering on his sore tongue – Andrew says, “Yes. I shouldn’t have shut you out.”

“Ok.” Neil balances his coffee on one knee, holding it with both hands, stares at the flop of blond wet curls on Andrew’s head, as Andrew’s eyes still glare at anything that isn’t Neil. “So. What are _we _going to do.” Completely unbidden he feels a grin spread on his face and tries to hide it with his mug, but his coffee is still too hot and Andrew’s eyes had flicked up at him at the word and now he’s flicking Neil’s nose and Neil is pushing his hand away and Andrew is grabbing his fingers to stop them escaping and Neil is pressing a rough kiss to Andrew’s cheek and Andrew is rolling his eyes and Neil is laughing a little, throwing his excess breath against the hot skin of coffee. Watches Andrew’s complicated face behind rolling steams of heat.

Andrew mutters, “That fucking laugh,” blows again on his coffee, squeezes Neil’s fingers.

Something settles in Neil, and he says, “What we need is some ideas.”

Andrew shrugs. Scratches a finger over Neil’s knuckles. “I could just talk to him.”

Neil scoffs. “And say what? Any conversation the two of you have is going to have to include the K-word.”

Andrew looks like he’s considering this, and Neil lets it hang between them, feels completely happy to be sitting here with Andrew in the early morning light, Andrew clean and Neil uncomfortable, coffee cooling and soft white sheets beneath them, swirling patterns above their heads, talking about how to deal with Andrew’s disapproving family.

It feels almost normal.

Andrew finally says, “That will have to happen eventually.”

Neil lets his jaw hang open in shock. “Oh my god, did you just _acknowledge _that Katelyn isn’t _going anywhere?”_ He tilts his head as if to consider Andrew, who pulls his fingers away from Neil’s and pulls his knees up, defensive and annoyed. “Has the world ended?”

“Shut up.”

Neil grins and pulls himself backward off the bed, sipping at a now acceptable-temperatured coffee and grabbing a towel on the way to the bathroom. “That’s not a bad idea,” he says. “But I want to talk to him too. You don’t need to fight my battles for me.”

“Who said I was,” says Andrew, sounding annoyed at the accusation. “Aaron is my problem.”

Neil toes out of his sweatpants and says tightly, “Right. And my boyfriend’s asshole brother is mine,” and shuts the bathroom door behind him.

Andrew has waited for him, watches as Neil dresses. He doesn’t question Neil’s choice of a short-sleeved tshirt and no armbands, instead kisses him and tugs them out of the room.

By then there are more people in the kitchen, bodies fighting over pancakes, Allison and Kevin and Renee sat at the far end of the table, voices quiet.

Nicky says, “Morning lovebirds.”

Neil untangles his fingers from Andrew’s and says, “Morning.”

He steals Nicky’s plate out of his hands, rips off a piece of pancake and stuffs it into his mouth before handing it back.

He sits opposite a grinning Matt at the table and hears Nicky say to Andrew, “Someone’s feral today.”

And Andrew’s reply, “Sounds like your problem,” before sitting next to Neil.

They spend some time talking to the others, mostly listening. Everyone sounds a little worn out, but in a way that’s warming to hear, like flowers open and lazy before the sun. Dan says to Neil, “What do you want to do today?” and smiles at him and Andrew.

Neil doesn’t look at Andrew. He shrugs and says, “I don’t mind. What do you have in mind?”

Dan looks a little surprised, but pleased. “We could drive into town. I think there’s mini-golf.”

Neil nods, “Sounds good to me,” and Dan looks at Matt.

Matt beams. “I’m up for it.” He yells the plan at the others.

“You know me,” says Nicky with a grin, “I’m always there when balls are involved.”

After a quick wordless conversation with Andrew, Renee says, “Sure, mini-golf sounds fun.”

Neil nudges his elbow gently against Andrew and, when that gets no reaction, removes his hand from the table and scratches it against his knee. 

Andrew says to his plate, “I’ll stay here.”

Dan says, “Ok Andrew. Kevin, Allison?”

But the two have been in a deep discussion about Allison’s previous day’s attempts at surfing, and she says, “Kevin’s going to see what it’s like to face-plant into a wave.”

And Kevin says, “That’s not at all what I said.”

Dan just rolls her eyes but she shares a look with Matt that’s a little bewildered, and then says, “Aaron?”

Before Aaron can answer Andrew clears his throat. The table is silent for a second, heavy, and Andrew sighs dramatically and says, again to his plate, “Aaron, do you want – to stay here.”

It’s a thousand things at once, and Neil isn’t at all surprised Aaron is unable to answer for a moment, that Dan’s eyebrows are raised into her hair and Matt has lowered his fork to his plate. Neil thinks about how Andrew would have phrased that a year ago. _Aaron. Stay. We’re going to have a talk._ Can’t help but smile at his plate as he eats some more pancake. Smears his blueberries around a little and pours some orange juice into a glass. Thinks he shouldn’t be enjoying Aaron’s discomfort this much.

“O…k?” comes Aaron’s eventual reply.

Dan stands up. “Great,” she says, sounding very uncertain, and gives Neil a look as she walks some empty plates over to the sink. Neil finishes his food and collects some dirty dishes and joins her.

Conversation has started again behind them and Dan whispers furiously, “What the _hell_.”

“I know,” says Neil.

“Is this you?”

“Nope,” says Neil, not entirely sure how accurate that is, but remembering Andrew’s words. “Aaron is Andrew’s problem.”

“But Andrew is yours,” says Dan, and Neil can’t refute that.

“This had very little to do with me,” he corrects, pushing his plates into the sink at Dan’s hands and taking a towel off the side so he can dry.

“Is this a good idea?” she asks, glancing back at them.

Neil shrugs, takes a wet plate out of Dan’s hands. “They haven’t got a choice.” Thinks Dan understands, because she falls quiet, but her body is restless, shifting from one foot to the other, scrubbing a little too hard. Neil lets sunlight tug at his attention, raises his eyes to look at the beach outside. Thinks he knows how she feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which like Nothing Happens but the tension is Fucking Palpable


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀

Neil wants to say something to Andrew, but everyone’s still crowding the kitchen. Aaron is leaning against the counter, glaring at Andrew, like if he glares hard enough he can figure out why Andrew wants him to stay behind. His fingers are fiddling with his phone and Nicky is by his side, face serious for once and voice quiet enough Neil can’t hear what he’s saying. Matt and Dan are ready to go, calling for Renee somewhere in the house.

Andrew is standing in front of the freezer, door open, contemplating it solemnly. Neil walks up to him and leans back, gripping the counter behind him. “Trying to will some ice cream into existence?”

Andrew sighs. “It’s not working.”

That surprises a short laugh out of Neil, and he moves a hand to grip gently in Andrew’s sweatshirt. “I’ll bring you some home. Yes?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow at him, pushes the freezer door shut and moves so he’s in front of Neil, hands next to his on the counter. Neil moves his hands over Andrew’s, strokes a thumb over his. “Yes,” says Andrew. “Chocolate.”

Neil nods. “Of course.” He risks a glance at Aaron, who’s looking away from them, but still refusing to engage in his cousin’s insistent conversation. “Play nice,” Neil says.

Andrew moves a hand up Neil’s arm until it’s buried in his hair. “I will if he does,” he mutters.

Neil looks back into Andrew’s eyes and smirks. “That’s mature.”

“I will if he –”

“Shut the fuck up,” says Neil, interrupting him, but this Andrew is tempting, playful, honest, hard to resist. He moves his smiling mouth against Andrew’s and just kisses him once, twice, moves back and folds his arms. “I don’t want to come home to broken bones.”

Andrew nods. “I’ll try to keep the bruising to a minimum,” and tugs Neil’s hair gently before releasing him. But then he seems to change his mind, touches Neil lightly on the hip, kisses his cheek and says, “Don’t run off now.”

“You always say that,” Neil whispers against his cheek, but the words make him feel a little unsteady.

“I’ll keep reminding you until I no longer have to,” Andrew breathes, the words hitting Neil’s cheek and sending little shivers through his face, his neck. “Coward.”

“Wow,” whispers Neil, bringing up his arms slowly behind Andrew so he can hold him a little closer, feeling their bodies align and his skin warming. “Rude. Have you ever thought it’s actually incredibly brave and clever to run from shit that scares you?”

“No,” says Andrew, hands wrapping firmly round Neil, body shifting slightly against him. “Shut up.”

“Hmm.” Neil buries his head in Andrew’s shoulder. “Good argument.”

Andrew grazes his teeth briefly over Neil’s neck and kisses him there, soft and delicate, before stepping back and pushing Neil more firmly against the counter. “Asshole,” he says, voice void of emotion, pitched loud enough so that across the room Nicky and Aaron’s conversation falters.

But Neil just smiles at Andrew’s retreating back and says, “I’ll miss you too,” and Andrew’s scoff echoes through the room.

Renee climbs into the front of the truck with Matt, which leaves Neil squished in the back with Nicky and Dan. Nicky has been giving Neil curious looks, which Neil has a lot of experience ignoring, instead watching out the window as trees roll past, listening faintly as Dan and Renee discuss their experiences of mini-golf, as Matt laughs at their conversation, complains about Renee’s navigational skills.

After ten minutes Nicky says, in German, “Seriously Neil, what’s going on?”

Neil turns to Nicky, in the middle seat and usually lording his height over Neil, but right now he’s slumped down, worry painted on his face, arms folded and fingers tapping against skin. “What do you mean?”

Nicky shakes his head lightly, mouth tight. “Andrew and Aaron,” he says, and the upperclassmen give each other looks at that, but then Nicky continues in German, “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? They’re about to have a _conversation_, Neil.” Nicky gestures at nothing, his nervous restlessness palpable, one knee jiggling up and down while he talks. “I can’t believe we’re leaving them unsupervised. This will end in disaster.”

“No it won’t.”

Nicky looks unconvinced. “Do we have completely different definitions of ‘disaster’?”

Neil shrugs. “Probably,” and can’t help but smirk.

“Oh my god,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning now. “You little shit. You haven’t changed a bit.”

Neil looks away, still feeling that smile strong and heavy on his face. He’s thinking of Andrew, standing up to his brother, and can’t help but feel a little excited.

Nicky nudges him with his elbow. “Seriously man, you look… better. Than earlier this week.”

Neil looks at him. “Is that your way of telling me I looked shit before?”

“Yes,” says Nicky with a laugh. “Sorry, but the facts don’t lie. I’m glad you’re feeling better, that’s all.”

Neil wonders what to say to this, then remembers their conversation the other day. He swallows down the distaste of honesty and says, “Thanks, Nicky.” To Nicky’s wide eyes he adds, “For the conversation, the other day. I appreciate it.”

Nicky smiles at him cautiously, and it’s slow and sweet and something swells within Neil. “You’re very welcome you little shit,” Nicky says, looking fond. “But um,” he clears his throat, “did you, talk things out with Andrew?”

Neil feels his face grow warm, hopes he isn’t blushing. He’s not sure whether Nicky worked out what the conversation they had was even about. “Uh, sorta,” he says.

“Sorta,” Nicky repeats, and sighs. “You know, the gays are supposed to be better at this stuff than the hets. You’re letting the side down.”

Neil raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, and Nicky waves this away and says, “Actually you’re right, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if demis fucked this shit up all the time,” and looks amused at himself.

Before Neil can responds Matt is pulling into a space and cutting loudly into their conversation to announce, “We’re here, stop jabbering away will you?”

They pull themselves out the car, pay for sticks and balls – Matt pokes Nicky with his when Nicky giggles, which just makes him laugh harder – and set out for the first hole.

Neil’s never played before. When he says this, standing in front of his ball, the others look a bit surprised. Nicky looks like he might cry. Neil rolls his eyes and just says, “What do I do?”

Nicky says, “I’d offer to show you, _Ghost_-style, but if it gets back to Andrew he’ll kill me.”

Dan shoves him sideways, hard, but Nicky just grins. She says to Neil, “You’ve never seen golf on tv?” Neil shakes his head. Dan moves to pick up his ball. “Ok rookie you’re going last,” grinning at him. After the others have all taken swings at their balls, hitting them through the clown’s mouth at various levels of success, Neil decides to think of it a little like exy, amuses himself by imagining the clown’s mouth is Kevin’s, lines up his shot – and totally misses.

“Oh,” he says with a frown, as Matt runs to retrieve the ball where it sailed to the far side of the small mini-golf plot, as Nicky tries to hide his laughter behind Renee.

Dan says, “This isn’t Exy Neil, maybe hit a bit lighter.”

Matt returns the ball to the spot in front of Neil, clears his throat and says, “No worries buddy, try again,” looking like he’s trying hard not to laugh.

On Neil’s fourth swing – he’s not aware of the rules but no one seems to be willing to move on until Neil’s got the hang of it – the ball sails through the clown’s mouth and Nicky raises his hands in the air, whooping, Matt clapping him on the back and Dan high fiving him.

Renee says, “Well done Neil,” looking genuinely happy for him.

It’s so stupid, it’s just a stupid kid’s game, but Neil lets Matt’s hand on his back propel him forward, lets Dan ruffle his hair, lets Nicky chant some dumb football song in front of them with Neil’s name in it, and smiles.

Afterwards they’re walking to the adjacent diner and Renee is hanging back with Neil.

They walk in amicable silence for a while before Neil asks, “Do you think this will end in disaster?”

He doesn’t have to clarify, knows that Renee cares about Andrew as much as Neil does; it’s the main reason he decided to let her in, after all. He looks sideways to see her smiling. “I have faith that they will try,” she says, “but, yes, I think there’s a chance.”

Neil scuffs the ground. “I should have stayed behind.”

“No,” says Renee, shaking her head, “I don’t agree. I think this conversation was inevitable, and I think they need privacy to do it.” When Neil looks a little surprised she says, “It’s not that hard to guess what Andrew wants to talk to Aaron about. You and Andrew have been acting much more like yourselves this week.” She smiles at the ground. “It’s been nice to see.” Neil looks away, trying to decide if he feels embarrassed. “And that will bring up Katelyn, and their future as brothers. It’s a big topic.” Renee runs a hand over her mouth. “I imagine they’ve started this conversation in therapy, but…”

“They haven’t been in a long time,” Neil mutters, and Renee nods.

They’re quiet for a few steps before Renee says, “I think you’re good for each other, Neil. I’m really glad you’ve been trusting us more with your relationship this week.”

Neil feels pretty floored. He’s always found Renee’s penchant for honesty pretty difficult to swallow, especially when it’s so _hopeful _and _kind, _concepts he only started believing in recently, but her words are so suffused with love and strength too that he can’t help but nudge himself softly into her side. “Thanks,” he mumbles, allowing her to squeeze his shoulder gently before pushing himself away.

Inside they shuffle into a booth and Neil removes his hoodie, completely aware he chose a short-sleeved tshirt today, completely aware of his bare scars leaning against the table, of his friends’ eyes on him. Nicky’s the first to break the spell, beaming at him and tapping the menu. “I’m having the biggest milkshake they’ve got, cause like, my milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard.”

“Good for you,” Matt says, bringing his arm around Nicky, and practically choking his throat with brotherly affection.

Once the milkshakes and burgers have arrived Dan mutters something to Matt and Matt clears his throat and says, “Hey Neil.”

Neil eats a fry, leans back against the vinyl, and says, “Yeh.”

“What’s going on with you and Andrew?”

Neil raises an eyebrow. Steals a fry from Matt’s plate.

“I mean,” says Matt, leaning his elbows on the table. “This week, you’ve been… I dunno…”

“All over each other,” Dan fills in.

Neil steals a fry from Dan’s plate.

Nicky says, “Come on man what gives?”

Neil moves his hand towards Nicky’s plate but he’s batted away.

He doesn’t know what to say – usually the others don’t bother asking him questions they know he won’t answer, but today feels – he feels the lightest he’s felt all week, honestly. Andrew’s words keep echoing in his head, like the wrap of Andrew’s strong arms around his body, and he feels held up and warm, and his arms are bare and everyone can see his scars, the waiter politely averting his eyes after a curious look, and Neil can feel gentle air against the ragged lines, feels comfort in them today like a scratch of a reminder that Neil Josten does not look as much like his father as he feared he always would, and the smiles and laughter of his friends feel like a reminder that’s he alive, and safe, and awake, that the horrors of his past don’t have to control his every breath, and his lungs feel steady and strong and – and his mother is dead, and that’s _ok _– and – and for once he doesn’t feel like lying.

_But, I just… I’m a bit sick of this. Pretending… Pretending this doesn’t mean anything._

_Ok._

Neil clears his throat. Shrugs. Tries to think. Eats another fry. Says to his plate, “I dunno. We’re just being us. We’ve always been like this. Just… we decided not to hide it anymore.”

There’s a tentative silence before Matt says, “That’s… great, Neil. That’s really great.”

Neil looks up and frowns a little at him. “You don’t have to pretend you think it’s great. I know what you all think of him.”

“Hey,” says Nicky, affronted. “I love him, that guy’s like family to me,” grinning around his straw.

Renee says, “He’s one of my closest friends,” all sweet smile and soft expression.

Dan looks a little uncomfortable, “Neil, sure we haven’t always got on with Andrew… he hasn’t always made it easy…” Matt scoffs. “But, of course we think it’s great you’re happy with him.” She’s frowning, like she’s genuinely confused or upset and Neil feels something hot in his stomach, feels uncomfortable, regrets the instinct for honesty. “We may not have got it at first but… you’re obviously really good together.”

“Yeah,” says Matt, “genuinely man. You seem to make each uh… how to put this…”

“Less assholey,” suggests Nicky.

“Yes,” says Matt, pointing at him. “And less scary.”

Neil just rolls his eyes as Nicky adds, “_Seriously. _I’ve never seen Andrew with less knives in his hands.”

“Fewer,” mutters Neil, and Nicky wraps an arm around him.

He’s thinking about this exchange the rest of lunch, content to sit in silence with Nicky warm at his side and conversation loud over his head. That his friends, his family, the people who mean everything to him, recognise how good his relationship with Andrew is, leaves him feeling a little untethered. Like this isn’t the reality he’s been reacting to, making decisions against. He had no idea. But – he knows how much they love him. He does. It’s taken a long time, but. He knows.

Like sometimes Matt will pull him in or shove him away and say, “You’re ridiculous. I love you buddy,” or Nicky will grin and say, “One of the family. You have to love us now,” or Dan will kiss Matt and say, “I love you so much Matt, almost as much as we love Neil,” or when he makes a tight shot sometimes Kevin will glare at him with an intensity that Neil recognises in the looks Andrew gives him.

And he knows how much he’s changed over the past year – he’s gained a little weight, a little muscle, the ability to talk about the future, to go a day without checking any of his belongings, to baring his scars, to talking to his friends about the person who means the most to him – and he guesses they must attribute as much of that to Andrew as he does.

And he thinks about how he knows the Foxes love him, and frowns at his plate, and shakes his head a little.

“You ok bud?” says Matt at his side, low enough that the others can’t hear.

Neil nods. He looks at Matt and frowns. “Matt,” he says quietly. Pauses, and then pushes on. “I uh. I,” he clears his throat, mumbles, “I love you man.”

Matt’s eyes widen, and for a second they’re stuck in this awkward liminal space of no breaths and crushing anxiety, but then Matt pulls him into a crushing hug, and Neil can feel him grinning against his cheek. “You fucking coward,” he mutters, “you haven’t told him yet, have you?”

Neil pushes him off. “Shut up,” he says. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Sure it isn’t,” Matt says, beaming at him. “But, thanks man. You know I love you too.”

“Sure,” Neil says, nodding like he’s completely unaffected by this bizarre exchange, glad that Nicky’s telling Dan and Renee some story with a lot of hand waving that keeps their attention firmly away from the two of them. “Now, let’s talk about literally anything else.”

Matt nods. “Ok. How about we discuss how you’re a coward though?”

Neil’s about to reply when he feels his phone buzz against his pocket. He pulls it out to see that Andrew’s calling. He can’t help but smile, and when he sees Matt grinning at him he uses one hand to shove his face away and the other to answer the phone. “Andrew,” he says, unable to keep the happiness out of his voice, “I already said I’d bring ice cream home. You change your mind about chocolate?”

He waits a second, and then two, and after five seconds eventually hears a shuddering breath.

“Andrew?” Neil’s on his feet in a second, pulling Matt out of the booth out of instinct. When Andrew still doesn’t say anything Neil starts walking toward the door, hoping the others will follow him. Panic makes him say, “Are you ok? Are you hurt?” But of course Andrew doesn’t answer that, and Neil leans against Matt’s truck, watching the others hurrying out the diner. Neil takes in a deep, quiet, steadying breath, closes his eyes, and says firmly, “What do you need?”

“Just…” Andrew’s quiet voice is low, scratchy. A little breathless. “Come back.”

“Ok. Do you want me to stay on the line?” Andrew doesn’t reply, so Neil doesn’t hang up, but by the time Matt’s unlocking the truck the line’s gone dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are the best, thanks for all your comments and keeping me company with this story xxx


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine if this fic really had been only 5 chapters. jesus. anyway sorry/notsorry for the cliffhanger, your comments made me smile and go mushy and i love everyone who's reading this! thank you. i cant leave a note at the end because, well. emotional. anyway. i've just finished writing and *i'm* feeling emotional so i'm gonna run away and bury my feelings for a bit. -hedy xxx

Neil’s fingers are clenching into the hard edges of his car seat, and he imagines the tips turning white, but his eyes are focused on nothing on the road in front and he’s leaning forward a little in his anxiety for the car to _move, come on._ The others had tried to ask but he’d just shrugged and said, “What do you think?” That had Nicky groaning, head in his hand, Renee and Dan exchanging looks, Matt throwing the car into reverse and hauling them out of the parking lot.

Nicky’s been keeping up a low chatter for the last few minutes, and whenever Neil looks into the rear-view mirror he can see Renee in the middle seat, one hand on Nicky’s arm, expression calm and nodding sympathetically and –

Neil doesn’t care about any of this.

“Come on,” he mutters, almost subconsciously, the words running over and over in his head, almost like an attempt to keep the worse thoughts at bay.

Matt just throws him a side-glance, but they’re almost there.

Neil thinks, _I forgot the ice cream._

On the driveway at last Neil throws open the door and walks up to the house. The front door is open and he tips his head in first, like he’s not sure what he’s expecting to see. Nothing, of course. He takes a few tentative steps inside, aware of Nicky’s presence at his back. He wants to tell him to fuck off, honestly, thinks _Andrew called me not the entire fucking brigade_, but he’s saving his energy.

He doesn’t bother calling for Andrew, doesn’t think he’d call back, and anyway he doesn’t want Aaron to hear his voice.

And anyway he walks straight through the living room and through the kitchen and the backdoor is open and Andrew is there, sitting on the swingseat.

It’s a calm day – making the jokes about how the wind must have carried off Neil’s golf ball extra punchy – and for once Neil can’t hear the ocean, can’t hear wind rustling through his hair, or distant seagulls, or anything.

He does hear an intake of breath at his shoulder.

Below Andrew’s hazel eyes, unfocused, alert, paralysing, breathtaking, everything; there’s a bruise on his cheekbone.

Neil says, “Where is he?”

Andrew doesn’t answer, his knees are drawn up to his chest and he’d look perfectly calm, bored even, staring as he is at nothing, were it not for the tight grip on his phone.

Neil turns and is blocked immediately by Nicky.

“Nicky,” says Neil, one breath at a time, “move.”

Nicky looks torn, or maybe just a little paralysed, so it’s Matt who says, “I have a better idea. You stay here with Andrew, we’ll go find Aaron, make sure he’s ok.”

Neil raises his head to look at Matt, to look him straight in the fucking eye, and says, “Make sure he’s ok? Are you fucking kidding me?” And he says it pretty quietly he thinks, is quite impressed that he’s managing to distil everything he’s feeling right now into clenched fists, a calm demeanour, the image of bruising cheekbone.

Matt shakes his head, moves his hand as if to touch Neil’s shoulder but thinks better of it, touches Nicky instead. “This is why you’re not going. Stay here with Andrew.” He pulls at Nicky’s shoulder.

Nicky’s mouth is open, like he’s been conjuring words and failing, and he looks at Neil, a desperate plea in his eyes but Neil’s not sure what for, and turns to leave with Matt. The two head back into the kitchen and after a second Dan and Renee emerge, staunchly not looking at Andrew, leaving off the back of the deck to walk along the beach.

So Neil turns back round and looks at Andrew.

He spends two seconds pushing everything away, down into the pit of his stomach, the nails biting into palm, away from teeth and throat and lungs.

He spends three seconds taking an inaudibly deep breath.

It almost works. Anger isn’t helpful right now. Not with Andrew. He wants to save it for later.

He sits down, a little rigid, at the other end of the swingseat, and for a few minutes just stares at the retreating backs of Dan and Renee, walking to god knows where, thinks he can hear the distant echoes of Matt and Nicky walking through the house, before eventually he hears the front door shut and Matt’s car starting up.

He thinks Andrew must hear that too, because a short, steady breath escapes his mouth.

Neil toes out of his shoes, moves socked feet sideways into the seat so that he’s mirroring Andrew, but turned to face him, and leans one head back. He says, “I forgot the ice cream.”

Andrew’s still not looking at him. Neil wouldn’t be sure he’d heard at all if it wasn’t for the minutest of nods, Andrew’s eyes still glassy and far away. Neil takes this to mean _I expected no less, what an idiotic boyfriend I have, remind me the point of you again._

He grinds his teeth together, licks his lips, twists his hands round his knees. Settles. Gets comfy, back pushing a little against the swingseat in a way that makes it rock gently, and says, “I know you wanted chocolate ice cream, but you didn’t say what type, so I would have been paralysed with choice anyway. Maybe Matt could have helped me pick.” Neil closes his eyes. He speaks slowly, gently, letting his voice hit the air low and warm, letting little breaths of air escape with his words, thinks _Andrew, Andrew, Andrew_. “I don’t understand that one you like that has cake in it. It makes my teeth unhappy. And I don’t think _brownie surprise_ is a good name for an ice cream with cake in it anyway. It’s not a surprise if they’ve put it on the tub, and anyway that’s a terrible fucking idea for ice cream. Just pick one, you know? I’m sure you do. I’m sure you’re thinking, _wow Neil should be designing ice creams, he’s so intelligent. _Maybe when I retire from the pros. We could set up an ice cream hut by – maybe not by the ocean. No, fuck it. By the fucking ocean. We’ll call it _here’s your fucking ice cream_ and there won’t be any brownie surprises, or maybe we’ll just stock all your favourites. I don’t care, I’ll just be the famous nonchalant retired Exy star turned ice cream seller and people will want selfies with me. You’ll have to glare at them until they go away, and we won’t make a sale, but then we’ll close the shutters and make out instead and that’ll be better. Actually I don’t mind the berry-chocolate ice cream we found, maybe we’ll sell that. But I’m fairly sure you said you would leave me if I tried buying it again. I think your favourite is the one with some obnoxious name like double chocolate triple chip mega super chocolate edition or whatever. I don’t understand the hype, to be honest. Chocolate is colonial theft, anyway. That’s what Nicky says, though usually while he’s eating your ice cream.”

Neil opens his eyes and is pleased to see that Andrew’s head has turned a little towards him, that his face has regained a little of its colour, that there’s the tiniest of frowns to Andrew’s face. It makes Neil feel utterly wrecked, this vision of tiny adjustments, like he’s breathing into Andrew.

So he fixes his gaze on what he can see of Andrew’s eyes, running over his pale eyelashes, eyebrows, a little sleeplessness in the bags underneath, knows there’s a single freckle on the side of his nose he can’t see, stubbornly pictures it anyway.

Neil takes in a deep breath and says, “Maybe we’ll get a cottage on the beach too. Not like this one. Smaller. Darker. Less modern. I think you’d like a fireplace, and blankets. Maybe on top of a cliff, so that you have to drive up to get to it, and each day we’ll drive down to the beach, open our ice cream hut, sell overpriced colonial ice cream to tourists. We’ll get lots of bookcases. Have you ever had a pet?” Andrew doesn’t answer the non-sequitur. “We could get a dog. Or a cat. I’ve never had a pet before. Might be nice. Maybe a cat though, I think dogs are a lot of work. I think you’d like that, in the evenings we can cook and watch terrible television and eat pancakes and ice cream forever, with a cat purring at you and a fireplace crackling. Maybe at the weekends we’ll drive into the village, barter with the second-hand bookstore, trade books with a grumpy old man. Buy food at the farmer’s market. We’ll only have one bedroom, that way no one will be able to visit us.” For some reason it’s this, not anything that came before – not _that’s a terrible fucking idea for an ice cream _or _I don’t understand the hype _or _chocolate is colonial theft _or _I think you’d like that _– that has Andrew’s eyes flicker to his. Neil licks his lips. “What do you think, good idea, bad idea?”

Andrew’s gaze on his is blank, but steady. Neil locates the freckle on his nose. “Everything about you is a bad idea.”

Neil tries not to smile.

Andrew’s eyes flicker to his mouth before he turns away again. But he says, “You’ll need a second bedroom.”

Neil sits up a little straighter. “I will?”

Andrew nods, but doesn’t elaborate. He still looks like all the air has been punched out of him.

Neil smiles at him. “For the Foxes,” he says quietly, but Andrew’s face is set, stubborn, facing the horizon. But he does move – up until now Andrew has been hunched forwards, cradling his knees, tight and ready to spring – but now he leans back, lets his spine uncurl and settle into the swingseat, and it rocks them back, and forth, and back, gentle, gentle. He lets go of the phone at last, lets it settle onto the seat too. Neil lifts a hand up, no particular design or intention, just wants Andrew to see the offer. Andrew looks at it out of the corner of his eyes, waits a breath, and nods.

Neil rearranges himself, crosses his legs and shifts sideways so their bodies are facing the same way, but he rests the side of his face against the back of the seat so that he can watch his hand curl into Andrew’s hair.

Andrew’s hair has always fascinated him. Before Andrew, Neil never understood attraction the way other people seemed to. But in Andrew it’s distilled into set pieces. He runs his fingers through Andrew’s hair. It’s not long enough to get tangled, impossibly soft, the very edges of curls that sometimes flop on top of his head, sometimes styled over his forehead, sometimes damp and straight and curling under his ears. When Andrew’s moving against him Neil breathes in against Andrew’s hair and it’s fucking intoxicating. His eyes, steady and sure, and hazel, and so _bright _they pierce through. Blunt. Almost painful. Like when Andrew’s speaking to him, it’s always his eyes that give him away, that Neil goes to, just to be sure. And he always is. And his arms, the bunch of muscles above his elbows, the harsh lines of scars that pepper his forearms, the soft pale hair he likes to brush his fingertips against, built and strong and firm and… Neil feels a little warm, so he chases that thought away. He’s stocky, but it’s cute, it’s terrifying, Andrew’s body is a wall he can throw himself against, and never get tired, and never fall down. His face is soft even when he’s frowning, even when he’s handling knives, like Neil knows that beneath the walls his eyelashes are pale against his eyes and his lips are pink against the threats falling from them and – for Neil it goes hand in hand. Andrew’s strength, his ability to love.

“What are you doing?”

Andrew’s low words jolt Neil from his thoughts, and he realises that as he’s been looking at Andrew, fingers carding rhythmically through his hair, over his scalp, brushing against his ear, Andrew’s been looking back.

“Cataloguing you.”

Andrew frowns, almost glares, is almost his Andrew again.

“Well don’t.”

“Why not?”

And Andrew doesn’t have a good answer for this, but his face looks frustrated, like Neil’s been coaxing him out of himself and he’s nearly reached the surface.

So he removes his hand, doesn’t miss Andrew’s eyes watching it retreat, and says, “Andrew.”

Andrew keeps his eyes on Neil’s hand, but his arms loosen their grip on his legs, and he turns so that he’s facing Neil, and Neil bunches his legs up and holds them, keeps the couple of inches between them, and waits patiently.

“It didn’t go well.” Andrew’s words are stilted, slow, but soft, like they’re stuck in honey and he’s pulling them out with tweezers. He’s slow, and it takes a while, but he talks to Neil, and Neil just listens. “I stalled. I found him in the living room. I asked if he wanted to go for a drive. He said he’d sooner get in a car with his mother than be alone with me in one. I pointed out she was dead, and that he was a coward. He pointed out I was a psycho and a freak. I said I had wanted to talk about Katelyn. He said it was convenient that now you and I had _decided all of a sudden to be normal _that I wanted to talk about Katelyn. I confirmed this. He was just getting madder. I don’t think I could have done it differently. I tried to tell him what you said. About none of us going anywhere. About this not changing until it did. But he just said he didn’t care what a fucked up fag like you thought. Perhaps I shouldn’t have reminded him his mother was dead. But she is and he brought it up. He asked if I was sorry and I said I still wasn’t. I pointed out he hasn’t been hit by a woman since – Allison aside, and reminded him I’d dealt with that fairly – and he should be grateful. He asked how you felt about dating a psychopath. I asked how Katelyn felt about dating one. It seemed just as relevant. He asked if I fucked you hard enough to make you scream, if that made me feel better about my past. I asked him if he fucked Katelyn hard enough to remember his mother’s hands on him, and he punched me.”

Neil closes his eyes.

“In hindsight,” says Andrew, even slower, voice barely a trickle now, “perhaps I could have not said that last part.”

Some distant part of Neil wants to laugh, but instead he just opens his eyes, pours everything he feels into Andrew, hurls feeling against him, says, “But that was my favourite bit.” The corner of Andrew’s lips curl, just the edge, and Neil lets a breath shudder through him. “Well fuck.”

“Yes,” says Andrew, nodding, and letting his eyes drop again. “I’m not sure what I expected.”

Neil moves his hand against Andrew’s arm, grips his sweatshirt tight. Neil considers his words carefully for a minute, but he lets his fingers communicate to Andrew that there’s no doubt here, Neil loves him, Neil is on his side, everything will be ok because he has him. Andrew meets his eyes again. “You expected him to act like a human being. Tall order maybe. Asshole.”

Andrew smiles a little then, and for some reason it makes Neil want to cry. “Objectively, I was also an asshole.”

“I don’t care,” Neil says, meaning it. “You went to him. Does he have any idea how difficult that was? Like he’s ever tried to approach you? He _is _a coward. I want to kill him.”

“Mm,” says Andrew, approaching amused now, finally unwinding an arm from round his leg to place his hand over Neil’s shoulder, curling against the back of Neil’s neck, and it’s like breath hitting his body. “I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“No,” Neil says, delighting in the sparks Andrew’s gentle fingers are sending through his body, the heat returning to Andrew’s eyes, “You said no touching. There are plenty of ways I can kill him without touching him.”

“Mm.”

“Yep. Poison, you said it yourself, it’s the perfect fucking crime. Now that he likes my cooking it would be easy as pie.” Neil grins and Andrew rolls his eyes. “Or I could pay Kevin to push him off the cliff.”

“That’s a little unsubtle, Neil.”

“Ok. How about a good old fashioned drowning? I’ll tie concrete blocks to his flippers and suggest we go diving.”

“He might notice.”

“Well, I’m not worried. We’ve got time to come up with a better plan.”

Andrew sees something in Neil’s eyes maybe, or perhaps exhaustion is finally catching up with him, but Andrew’s hand tugs lightly on Neil’s neck and Neil goes easily, relief flooding through him, and they hold each other so close, Neil’s head against Andrew’s hair, breathing him in, Andrew’s legs folded between them, his forehead buried into Neil’s shoulder. Neil wraps one hand around Andrew’s back and the other into his hair, squeezing as hard as he dares, which is barely at all, but he feels Andrew’s warm body relaxing into him. Neil murmurs, “We’ve got time,” and Andrew nods his head against Neil, tightens his hands around Neil’s waist, and breathes out.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg this chapter is so long, i was going to cut in two but thought i would be actually murdered in my sleep, so... you're welcome x

Neil barely hears the front door open and close; it’s only Andrew tensing under his hands that jolts him to awareness of bodies moving through the house behind them.

Of course Andrew wouldn’t want them to see him like this;

And Neil doesn’t hold that against him.

As they part – slowly, reluctantly, Andrew lifting his head from Neil’s shoulder and shooting him the most vulnerable look Neil thinks he’s ever seen, both moving to kiss the other lightly, a little desperate, before throwing their walls up – Neil thinks about everything Andrew’s done for him. The touches, speaking out loud, talking to his brother. He knows how important Andrew’s defences are to him, his choice on how to be viewed by the others, about how to think about himself, and knows it has nothing to do with their relationship.

Neil bring up his hands to grip the sides of Andrew’s head as Andrew brushes their lips together again, softly, holds himself there.

Thinks how utterly and entirely he knows that Andrew loves him.

Neil smiles a little as Andrew draws away from his touch, and mutters, “What’s the game plan?”

Andrew tries to roll his eyes, but Neil’s distracted by the smirk of his lips. Andrew says, “No one dies today.”

“Today, huh,” says Neil, pulling back entirely to arrange himself at one end of the swingseat as Andrew does the same at his end. Their knees are bent, and Neil nudges his socked toes against Andrew’s boots. “That leaves open a whole range of options, you know.”

“I’m aware,” says Andrew, his feet pushing back so that Neil has to part his, so that at least some part of them are interlinked, eyes twinkling a little at Neil in amusement before his face shuts down completely. Neil feels the cold settle in his stomach, swallows unsurety as he watches Andrew mask himself. Andrew turns away to regard the beach, and Neil’s eyes are drawn to the awful bruise on his cheek, and the memory of his anger rushes back to him –

The door opens and Matt clears his throat. “Hey,” he says, a little unsure, a little too cheerful.

Neil watches Andrew for a second longer before turning to Matt and attempting a smile. “Matt. What a pleasant surprise.”

Matt grins at Neil, and ruffles his hair. “I called Dan and Renee, picked them up. We’re back. All of us. They’ve gone upstairs. Dan wants to see if we can catch Allison beating Kevin’s ass at surfing, you guys wanna come?” Neil shakes his head. Matt nods, glances at Andrew, says, “What the hell is happening there anyway?”

Neil shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“It’s not complicated,” says Andrew, sounding more like himself but still not looking at either of them.

Neil nudges Andrew’s foot with his. “Then explain.”

Andrew nudges back. “No.”

“So helpful,” says Matt, but he sounds amused. “I mean, Allison’s a babe, but Kevin…” He’s been shaking his head at his feet but then looks up, startled. “Wait, is Kevin a babe too?” He looks between Neil and Andrew, looking alarmed. “Help me out here.”

Andrew scoffs, and Neil grins.

Matt says, “Oh god.”

Neil says, “Matt, it may not work like that for me, but I have _eyes._”

Andrew lifts a hand to gesture at an invisible Kevin and says, “It’s the hair I think. And the general length of his body.”

Matt makes a choked noise. “I have hair. I’m tall.”

Andrew finally turns to look at him, raises an eyebrow and says, “You wish, Boyd.”

And Matt rushes back inside to the sounds of Neil’s laughter.

Neil grins at Andrew, warmth and love rushing through him, watches as Andrew tries not to smile back, grips his hand and says, “Hey, what you doing like right now?”

Andrew looks a little surprised for once as Neil stands, pulling at his sweatshirt. He lets himself get pulled to his feet, gets with the picture, lets Neil pull him in for a kiss, only pulls back enough to mumble, “You, apparently,” against Neil, but Neil’s riled up enough he doesn’t have time to answer, only pulls him inside, ignores Matt calling bye, watches Dan and Renee file after him back out the house, gets Andrew upstairs and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s got into you,” Andrew says quietly, so quietly, as Neil is kissing his neck a little desperately.

“Want you,” Neil mumbles into his skin, and Andrew doesn’t say another word.

As they’re pushing each other towards the bed he thinks about how Andrew just let Neil take care of him. Neil remembers how overwhelmed he was the first time Andrew gave him anything when no one really had – nice clothes, a key to his house, his car; thinks about how long it’s been since Andrew felt the need to balance them out; how rare it is he is able to let Neil in like that. How long they simply sat on the swingseat, Andrew breathing against Neil, Neil carding his fingers through Andrew’s hair, the beach invisible behind heavy eyelids. It makes Neil want to put his hands all over him, so he does, after a quick check-in to Andrew’s eyes, which are half-lidded and bright, one hand pushing up into Andrew’s hair and the other at his lower back, scratching, wondering if –

“Andrew, can I”

“Shut up, yes”

– so Neil guides Andrew down onto the bed and pulls himself on top of him, leaning an inch above the way Andrew sometimes does, and the only part of the act that’s forceful is the way they’re kissing, like they’re breathing the same air, like Andrew feels as overwhelmed by all this as Neil does, but everything else about their touch is careful, Neil holding Andrew’s neck like it’s delicate, Andrew running his fingertips over Neil’s arms like he’s afraid.

One of the things the others don’t really understand is they largely prefer to take care of themselves. Neil feels safer when he knows he can be alright by himself, knows Andrew is the same way. But as he tries to kiss Andrew out of existence, out of his body, so there’s nothing but them left, as he feels intoxicated by Andrew’s taste, his smell, the tug of soft hair in his hands, he realises he always feels the most overwhelmed by Andrew when – when they’re looking after each other.

Maybe Andrew can tell Neil is distracted because his fingers reach into his hair and still, gripping a little to pull him off. Neil gazes down at Andrew’s mouth, panting, pink, kiss-slick and – he gets tugged again and flicks his eyes up to meet Andrew’s.

“Ok?” is all Andrew says, eyes searching Neil’s.

Neil nods, completely dazed.

Andrew lowers his hands again, draws them all over Neil’s shivering body, and Neil just waits, and then Andrew is pushing down on Neil’s lower back with one hand, pulling at the hand bracing him up with the other, and Neil lets Andrew pull his weight on top of him, legs and chest and lips meeting and it’s _overwhelming_.

Andrew stops again a minute later and this time when Neil looks up Andrew is frowning. “Do I need to ask again?”

Neil almost feels like he can’t breathe, almost feels like he’s going to cry, wonders if this is a panic attack – but Andrew just waits him out while Neil pushes his face into Andrew’s neck, grips his shoulders and takes in deep breath after the other while Andrew folds one arm around him, the other into his hair.

“It’s just,” Neil starts.

“Mm?” Andrew kisses his ear.

“That’s not helpful,” mutters Neil.

“What isn’t?” says Andrew, kissing it again, and Neil squirms, but Andrew licks the top of his ear and Neil retaliates by kissing his neck but that just makes Andrew hold him tighter.

Actually, just this is nice.

“Come on,” says Andrew, lips touching Neil’s ear as they move, “is this happy not being able to breathe or sad not being able to breathe?”

“You’re ridiculous,” says Neil, because it’s sort of their thing, because he’s grinning stupidly into Andrew’s neck where he can’t be found out, because he’s still trying to shuffle through words in his head, through air in his lungs.

Andrew tilts them to the side and Neil rolls off. Now they’re facing each other Neil tries to sort his grin into a more relaxed smile, but Andrew looks unimpressed at this as he arranges them together, legs interlinked, bodies hugging, noses almost pressed together, and pulls the covers over them.

“What is this, nap time?” asks Neil, moving to kiss Andrew on the cheek.

“Yes,” says Andrew. “You are exhausting.”

“You mean exhausted.”

“I do not,” says Andrew, kissing his eyes shut. “You are a fucking mess, and I hate you. Go to sleep.”

So he does.

Neil sleeps pretty lightly; it’s the middle of the day and whilst Andrew is right and his thoughts are exhausting him, his body is restless after a few days of no running, no exy, lots of Andrew and being in this bed and this house. So they move around a lot, and it’s a pretty good excuse to run his hands over Andrew’s stomach when Andrew’s back is to him, to pull Andrew’s legs over his when they turn the other way.

At one point Neil says, “You’re not even sleeping.”

Andrew nips his ear and says, “I could be.”

At one point Andrew breathes a heavy, “Yes or no?” into Neil’s ear.

And Neil, having been half asleep, is aware of the smile on his face, nodding back against Andrew, Andrew’s hands pushing down his body.

And it’s just everything.

Half-asleep and definitely floppy now, Neil doesn’t feel angry, doesn’t even remember it, letting Andrew stroke through his hair and murmuring stupid things against his lips, his ears, like, “We _just _had a nap, Josten, how are you falling asleep”; “you are so easy”; “I dislike all of this”.

But when they’re in the bathroom together, Neil brushing his teeth for the second time that day, Andrew is dragging a towel through his hair and catches sight of his reflection in the mirror, and pauses to inspect his bruise, rubbing a careful finger over the yellowing mark.

Neil pauses, and Andrew catches his eye, and moves away from the mirror, hanging up his towel.

Neil spits into the sink, washes his hands, says, “I wanted to kill him.”

Andrew raises his eyebrows, removes the towel from round his waist to dry his armpits, his torso, says, “And now?”

Neil runs an eye over his body. “How can I want to kill anyone when you’re this naked?”

Andrew actually huffs, his sort of laugh, and says, “My secret weapon.”

Neil nods, kisses him, and moves through to the bedroom to get changed.

He’s standing by the window, half-watching waves drag against the sand, half-aware of Andrew in the room, moving around, finding clothes, checking his phone.

Finally Andrew joins him, looking outwards too, and says, “You can’t talk to him if you’re this angry.”

Neil looks at him, surprised. “I said I wasn’t. I mean, I was, but –”

“Anger like that doesn’t just dissipate,” says Andrew, turning to face him, eyebrows furrowed. “You pushed it down.”

Neil looks away, suddenly feeling a little ashamed. Wonders at the fact that Andrew – impassive Andrew who only ever gets angry at himself, or only at Neil when he’s being self-destructive, when he’s hurting a thing Andrew loves – actually gets it. “I’m not going to kill him,” but he feels his fists curl a little into themselves even as he says it.

Andrew notices. “Violence never solves anything.”

Neil laughs, and realises Andrew is right, he’s still furious. “How will we ever know if you don’t let me try?”

Andrew touches Neil’s fist, waits until Neil gets the hint and unclenches it, lets Andrew dip their fingers together.

They just stand together for a little while, watching waves and sea-birds and white clouds moving against the sky. Neil breathes through his anger, tries to take it apart, tries to think _Andrew doesn’t want you like this_, but he sort of knows it isn’t true: Andrew wants all of him.

“We can just leave it.”

The words come out of Andrew a little tight, and it takes Neil a few seconds to work them out. When he does he looks back at Andrew, as Andrew gazes intently out the window, eyes a little unfocused. “Oh,” Neil says softly, “Andrew. No.” He tugs Andrew in and when Andrew lets him he knows he’s understood this right. He holds the back of Andrew’s head. “I fucking hate the guy, but – we’re not giving up this easily. Fuck him. He doesn’t get to say what this is.”

Andrew takes in a deep breath against Neil’s shoulder, and Neil’s anger _finally _settles, feels understood, feels useful rather than toxic, feels Andrew’s heart beating against his own. “Fuck him,” says Neil again, kissing Andrew’s hair, squeezing his hands one last time.

Neil pushes doors open as he moves through the house, but it’s been an hour or so since the cousins got home, so of course they’re not in their bedroom, or Matt and Dan’s bedroom, or Kevin’s, and if anyone was in the bathroom it would have been locked, but there’s a certain sort of satisfaction in banging open doors, in wondering if Andrew is smirking at the echoing sounds from upstairs where he’s been left in a puddle of blankets, playing some stupid game on his phone.

Nicky and Aaron are in the living room. Nicky is playing a video game on the screen and Aaron is sat in an armchair, legs huddled against himself, head resting in one hand. He looks largely unharmed. Neil hadn’t asked, but – of course he is.

“Hi,” says Neil, figuring he’d start off nicely. “Nicky, can you fuck off for a minute?”

Aaron narrows his eyes at him, but it’s Nicky that looks alarmed. He pauses his game, stands up and glances at Aaron. “Neil!” he says. “Hi! You look radiant. Maybe I could stay here though?”

“Fuck off,” says Aaron from his armchair.

Nicky flicks a look between them, and sighs. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, putting down his controller. “I am going to have a bath because you damn kids are ageing me, but if I hear any fighting I swear to god my soapy body will appear and you will _regret it._” He points a finger first at Neil, then at Aaron, and leaves the room, managing to look back only once.

Neil settles himself into the sofa, leans his elbows on his knees, not quite able to look at Aaron, takes in a deep breath to steady himself, and says, “Do you know why I only hit you once?”

There’s a pause before Aaron spits, “Are you _kidding_?”

So Neil looks at him, so that he knows he’s not.

Aaron looks supremely unimpressed, and for a moment it reminds Neil uncomfortably of his brother, until he rearranges his face into something ugly and snarls, “You’d never land a second blow.”

Neil shakes his head. “I think you forget sometimes,” he starts, “that I grew up afraid of much worse monsters than you.”

Aaron looks like he wants to leave the armchair, so Neil adds, “Do you have any idea how much he loves you?” and that of course stops him, has Aaron pause with one foot on the ground, one tucked under him, hands gripping at the arms.

Neil wants a reply, so he waits, listening to the ticking clock on the wall, the thundering of his heart in his chest. He wants to rip that stupid look from Aaron’s face, but instead he just watches.

Aaron eventually shakes his head, says very slowly and very quietly, “You have _no idea_ what you’re talking about.” Neil figures it’s Aaron’s turn so he just raises an eyebrow, and Aaron looks away, looking completely flummoxed, looks back at him and says, “You think you’re so clever, you haven't even been here two years, Josten, you don't _know him_. I’ve been putting up with his shit for _years –_”

“Yeah,” agrees Neil, nodding, “so it’s amazing really that it’s taken you this long to put together. Well, really, I’m handing it to you on a plate, so. I’m still waiting to be amazed.”

Aaron puts his other foot on the ground. Neil says, “While we’re waiting let’s get some things straight. I know that you know why Andrew did what he did. I fucking told you. Andrew’s told you. I don’t know who else you want to hear it from. So I’m a little fucking bored of you throwing that in his face. It’s complicated, I get it – and if you ever asked me anything about my past, or my mom, or gave a crap about anyone other than yourself – you’d know how much I get it.” Neil doesn’t realise how tight he’s clenching his fingers together until he hears bone click, and he moves his fingers into the material of his sweatpants instead.

Aaron says, “We did ask, you’re a fucking pathological liar.”

“I had to be,” Neil says, completely bored by this line of conversation, “but for the record, she hit me too, and I buried her bones on the fucking beach.”

Neil leans back into the sofa, struck a little numb by his own words, and spends one minute spreading heavy fingers against his chest. Aaron gives him the minute, like an agreed ceasefire, but when Neil’s heartrate has calmed down, when he leans forward again and opens his mouth, Aaron says, “That doesn’t change anything, asshole. You think I’m suddenly gonna trust you just because we had the same shitty moms?”

“Not the same,” Neil feels the need to say, “mine actually loved me.”

Aaron gets up now, so Neil does too, but they’re just standing, the weight of holding themselves back heavy in the room. Neil thinks about Andrew, wonders if Aaron’s thinking about Nicky.

Neil clenches his teeth. “We’re not fucking doing this. You never answered my question, but the reason I didn’t hit you a second time is because of _him. _You must know that no one is allowed to touch you.”

Aaron scoffs. “We ended that deal a long time ago. He ended it because of _you_.”

“And you ended it because of Katelyn, so stop playing the victim, it looks pathetic.” Neil decides to sit back down. Thinks that if Aaron wants to hit him, he’ll let him, but he instigated this, and he sits down, enjoys watching Aaron looking uncomfortable, clearly deciding what’s the lesser of two evils, as Aaron sinks back down onto his armchair. “He still won’t let anyone touch you. He’s furious at me.”

Aaron actually frowns at that. “No he’s not, you should see him around you, it’s fucking disgusting.”

“Yeah,” says Neil, “he is. He’s furious because me hitting you doesn’t make him love me any less, and he thinks it should.”

Aaron looks like Neil has slapped coherent thought out of him. He opens and closes his mouth, and then _laughs_. It’s the worst sound Neil has ever heard. When he’s stopped, Aaron says, “You are kidding. Josten! I had no idea how funny you were.”

Neil shakes his head. “Your homophobia is honestly the least interesting thing about you.”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “I’m not fucking homophobic, I just find it a little hard to believe that you think my sociopathic brother loves you.”

“I don’t care that you called me a fag,” says Neil, meaning it, the word sliding off him, “I care that you use that word in front of Andrew, in front of Nicky.”

Aaron shrugs, like this means nothing to him, but Neil can see something like discomfort flit across his face.

Neil rubs his hand against his forehead. This would be so much easier if he was allowed to punch him.

“Let me simplify this for you.” Neil leans forward again. “I don’t like you. I don’t fucking care if you like me. But get this: we are family. We have been for over a year now, and we are going to be for the rest of however long our lives are. I don’t care what Andrew says, how much he tells me not to touch you, how misplaced his love for you is – if you _ever_ touch Andrew again I _will _kill you, and if you think I’m fucking around you can ask him yourself if I’ve ever killed anyone before out of a sense of necessity.”

Aaron grinds his teeth together. “Way to convince me you guys belong together.”

“Sure,” says Neil, waving this off, inconsequential. “But now we’ve got the conditions out of the way, tell me what it’s going to take for you to get off your high horse.”

Aaron raises his eyebrows. “My _high horse_?” He pauses, as if to check Neil is for real, and barrels on, “Oh you mean my high horse of spending the first fourteen years of my life _alone _in _that house _thinking I was on my own, only to find a brother that fucking rejects me, that moves in with us, that never speaks to me, that kills my fucking mother, that pushes me away, that breaks the hand of my high school girlfriend, that nearly breaks Allison’s neck, that threatens the only person in my life that makes me happy?”

“Rude,” mutters Neil.

But Aaron still looks furious. “When you talk about Andrew you honestly sound ridiculous, you have absolutely no idea what he’s like with anyone but you.”

Neil shrugs. “I’ll take that.” Which startles Aaron, disrupts his rant, throws him off a little. Neil says, “But why do you think that is? Is it magic? Yeh, it’s probably magic. Oh wait, or is it because I have never asked Andrew to be anything other than who he is?”

Aaron sneers, “So what are you fucking _in love with him _or something –”

“Yeh.”

They sit in silence for a minute, maybe two, and at one point Neil realises the sun is setting, and he pushes his gaze out the window, watches orange skies gathering behind the black Maserati.

“God how did it get this late,” Neil says.

“You two were too busy fucking?”

“Yeh that’s probably it.”

Aaron laughs, and Neil actually can’t tell how much of it is surprise, horror, genuine amusement, exhaustion from this fucking weird conversation.

Neil isn’t sure how much more he wants to do right now. He tries to tick off items in his head. _Tell him off for hurting Andrew – tick. Ask him nicely not to do it again – tick._

Aaron says, “I’m never going to like you.”

Neil says, “I really don’t care.”

Aaron folds his arms, looks away. “But I get it.”

It’s more than Neil expected, and he feels a little uncomfortable, no longer on steady footing, doesn’t know if Aaron means _because you guys are so obviously great together and I’m a moron for thinking otherwise_, or, more likely, _he’s your family too._

Neil stands up, an assessing gaze on Aaron, sensing he’s not done.

Aaron looks back at him, curls his feet up and under him, the very picture of nonchalance, and snaps, “But don’t think for a fucking second I’m not watching you, you lying piece of shit,” and Neil smiles, “if I ever think that he’s… that you’re…”

“Eloquent,” says Neil, “but if I ever hurt him I’ll see myself out.”

Aaron clenches his jaw, nods tightly. “Can we be fucking done now?”

“Yeah, but this was fun,” says Neil, just to get Aaron to roll his eyes. He starts to leave, but turns back. “I think you get it more than you pretend you do.” When Aaron looks up Neil says, “Because you care about him too.”

Neil leaves the room. He walks through the kitchen and opens the back door. In the distance he thinks he can see the upperclassmen in the water, returned from surfing, or not surfing. Takes a quick look at the sand beneath his feet as he toes his way out to them, shoes forgotten, sand tucking itself into his socks.

The first thing he thinks is _the ocean is fucking huge_, is glad he didn’t say it out loud, thinks it might be one of those things that people would be right to laugh at him for but – it is. 

He stands a few metres away from the water, checking in with his breath, his thoughts, thinks tentatively, _hey mom_, and Matt notices him first, splashes out of the water where he was previously ducking Kevin’s head below the surface and runs out towards him. “Neil,” he says, a happy look on his face. “You’re here?” Behind him Allison is floating on her back and Kevin is pulling her by her hands through the water, Renee swimming alongside them.

“Yeh,” says Neil, breathing out long, and hard, looks away from Matt and just watches the water, thinks he’s never seen anything so blue in all his life_,_ even as the sky grows dark above them, the glow of waning sunlight on their backs, thinks how endless the sky is, how happy his friends are here, thinks _sunrise, Abram, death: these are truths_, feels Matt’s hand on his shoulder, lets it fold around his back and tug him against him, leans into Matt, shakes his head, and says, a little awed, “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think some of you might have thought neil's confrontation with aaron was going to be more dramatic/violent, but neil spends the whole chapter trying to take apart or rearrange his anger, he's not really there for aaron, he's there for himself, for andrew, he's finally being honest out loud in front of people and it's a necessary part of his mental health journey, to be honest with himself, to confront his relationship with andrew, with the foxes, with aaron, and getting to write him live so out loud is fucking beautiful to see and  
i want to cry, this is nearly over, cry with me in the comments x x x


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh gosh, no more fake-outs, this is it. x

Neil doesn’t stay outside long; feels the draw of Andrew like the tide crawling up the sand.

But for a time he stands on the beach, watches the upperclassmen swim, push, occasionally shout to include him, gives them a smile, pushes his hands into his pockets and his socks into sand; lets the discomfort of grains push between his toes, puts one hand over his chest to feel the now familiar discomfort of a raised heartbeat, a clench in his gut.

Thinks _is this her, or trying not to think of her?_

He’s not sure. Figures Bee will know.

Or, no. Thinks that’s never how Andrew really put it. Struggles to remember Andrew’s barest descriptions of therapy. Figures he can ask later. Starts wondering if Bee will have suggestions for how to remember things like his mother – and – well – the – yeah – the – thing that happened a year ago – and not feel like he’s dying.

Neil wonders how much he’ll have to tell her, in order to get that to happen.

He’s had sessions with her before, but, they were scattered. Sort of a last minute one-off whenever things got bad. She’s the one who pushed him to use the phrase _panic attack_, and he doesn’t hate saying it as much now as he did a week ago. Now, there’s a small comfort in placing one hand over his chest, feeling his lungs rise and fall and knowing they’re going to keep doing that; feeling and hearing his breath and his heartbeat and his skin against clothes and soft air; knowing he has breath in him; and knowing this will pass; and knowing this will pass.

And he thinks that’s thanks to Bee.

And Andrew.

He turns to look back at the house. It’s nearly completely dark, a lingering heaviness of scattered cloud dulling the edge of sunset, and Neil turns back to wave goodbye to the Foxes. But they’re leaving the water now too. Go figure, they must be freezing. But they’re joyous, smiling and panting. Neil smiles.

Matt reaches him first. Says, “We’ve started a new bet.” Neil looks behind him to where Kevin and Allison are still swimming back, having gone further than the others. Renee walks up to them, a knowing look on her face.

Neil says, “About what,” all deadpan, and Matt bursts into laughter.

The three of them walk up to the house. “How is everyone?” asks Renee, delicate as always.

Matt says, “She means are there any bodies to get rid of?”

Neil shrugs. “No. And fine. They’re still them, but I think I made Aaron listen. I think he’s going to try.”

“And Andrew?”

Neil frowns up at Matt. “Andrew was already trying.”

“Ok, just asking,” says Matt with a grin. Renee is smiling too, aiming it down at her feet, perhaps where she thinks it’s safer. “And you?”

“And me what,” says Neil, just to be a shit, looking back at the house and looking forward to having steady ground beneath him again.

“Are you going to try?”

“With who.”

“I could start listing battles but I didn’t think you were a real _out loud _kinda guy,” says Matt, and Neil can hear the smile in his voice.

Neil says, “Hey, my door to Aaron has always been there. It just has very specific opening hours.”

Renee laughs and moves so that she’s nearer Neil, so she can wrap a gentle hand over his shoulder, and Neil doesn’t hate it. She says, “Good for you Neil. I love seeing you and Andrew this ok.”

Neil feels a little winded.

He shrugs.

Matt says, “What changed?”

Neil hesitates, before saying, “I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. Don’t you think it had to eventually? Not me and Andrew,” he says, clarifying, shaking his head. Thinks, “Maybe I do mean that. But. It’s all the same thing. Me and Andrew – if we’re – I mean we are – we’re a real thing, you know, and Aaron didn’t know that. And maybe you guys didn’t either.” Thinks: _I love you. And now they all know. _Clears his throat. “I don’t know. It all feels like – I’m just so done with trying to be anyone else. Of,” he gestures vaguely at his head, searches for words, “of living anything different. Anyway. Now Aaron knows. And the thing is he and Andrew are a real thing too. Or at least Andrew wants them to be. I think Aaron does too. I mean I know he does, he’s just a stubborn dipshit asshole.”

They’ve reached the back door, and have paused to wait for Kevin and Allison to catch up, or to wait for Neil to be done, or – Neil isn’t sure. Doesn’t remember stopping. Looks down to discover his feet are safely on white decking, gazes at the swingseat in lieu of his friends’ faces, pushes his toes into hard ground.

He thinks Renee is smiling when she says, “That’s sweet, Neil.”

“Breaks my fucking heart,” Matt says, but when Neil looks up at him he’s grinning. Neil rolls his eyes and Matt laughs. “Look, I mean it. I – think you’re pretty amazing man.” Neil frowns at him. “You and Andrew, doing all this. I dunno. Relationships are tough. And everything else –” Matt pauses. “You know. Our past, what’s got us here. It’s all tough. Can I just think you’re amazing?” He wraps an arm around Neil and Neil lets him, gets hugged into Matt’s shoulder, spends one second hearing Matt’s heart beat against his cheek, a second feeling awkwardly aware of how naked and wet Matt is, and a third bringing up one hand to squeeze him back briefly before pushing away.

He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. At least not with them.

Inside Neil gestures vaguely to the living room as if to say _look Aaron’s in there and I suppose you can go keep him company if you want I don’t give a shit_ before hopping every other step on the way up to the top floor.

On the middle floor he hears Nicky’s awful voice drifting from the bathroom, like he’s probably singing, smiles and continues up.

He knocks gently on his bedroom door and pushes it open. Andrew is where he left him, huddled safely in blankets, only now the room is swathed in darkness, the only light the bright white square from his phone, close to his face, fingers tapping away, and his expression small, gentle, concentrating.

Neil smiles. Closes the door behind him. Says, “Andrew.”

Andrew shifts a little and looks up, like he’d been concentrating so much he hadn’t heard the door. “Ah,” he says, looking back at his phone, shuffling a little further into the covers. “Everyone survive the encounter?”

He says it casually, and he’s not looking at Neil to wait for an answer, but Neil knows two things: that Andrew trusts Neil with his brother; and that this is because they are the two things Andrew cares about most in the world.

Neil says, “Mm-hmm. I left him nice and unscathed.”

“Generous,” says Andrew. He doesn’t ask for details. Neil wants to give them to him. Wants to make suggestions like, _the next time Aaron wants to invite Katelyn round we could sit in the same room as them and not say anything. _It would be a start, and he thinks it’s a suggestion Andrew would find pretty funny.

What he says is, “You know. You said. The thing.”

Andrew looks up at that, stills. Says, “Mm,” and puts his phone face-down on the mattress. It’s pitch-black for two seconds, but there’s moonlight hovering outside the window, and Neil knows Andrew’s face off by heart anyway, can almost feel his piercing gaze, wonders if he’s chewing the inside of his lip, if his cheeks are pink-tinged from how warm he must be, in bed, under that many blankets, in the middle of the day. Neil wants to feel how warm his skin is.

He says, “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

The outline of Andrew is shaking his head, and Neil manages another step towards him. “Like I said. I should have known you could not handle so many things at once, precious and struggling as you are.” But it’s a beat, like he’s thinking, before he says, “I did not say it for me, Neil. I did not say it because it changes anything about me, or you. Or – this. I was just making an observation. It seemed like a complication.”

“Yeh,” says Neil. Takes another step forward. His eyes are adjusting now, and at this angle half of Andrew’s face is lit up, pale, curious. “Well. I love you. Obviously. So.” Considers. “Add that to your complications.” Andrew reaches for him and Neil goes, saying, “You’re impossible,” grabs Andrew’s arms and lets Andrew pull him into bed, says, “I can’t believe you,” breathes it into Andrew’s neck, his jaw, his cheek, says, “I’m so – I never thought –” as Andrew pushes the covers out the way, pulls Neil flush against him, gasps “Andrew,” as Andrew cups the back of his head, kisses him, kisses him, kisses him, “Andrew,” as they rush to meet each other, as Neil feels it everywhere, “Andrew,”

as Andrew shudders out, “Stop talking.”

Sometimes – usually – afterwards – they either don’t talk, or don’t touch, or don’t look.

But Neil can’t stop.

He says, “We’re getting pretty good at this.”

His legs are wrapped up in Andrew’s, and Andrew is holding him against his chest, and Neil’s head is heavy and relaxed against his pillow, and he’s looking at Andrew, a breath away, talking, and touching everywhere, and he can’t stop looking.

He says, “You know what they say. Practise makes –”

Andrew kisses the word out of his mouth. Pulls back and looks at him. Frowns and says, “Surprised you’re not sore.”

Neil shrugs against him. Says carefully, “Only the good kind,” and kisses Andrew again.

But Andrew’s been working too this year, and they’ve had this conversation before. Had to, after the first time. After Neil really was sore and Andrew hadn’t been able to talk to him for three days afterwards.

They’re both working, and Andrew just nods against Neil’s lips, trusts him, is starting to trust himself. Neil sighs a little into his mouth.

Andrew says, “We’re not becoming those people.” He taps Neil on the nose, looking intent.

“What people?” asks Neil, innocent, knows entirely what Andrew’s referring to.

Andrew scowls at him. It’s small, his features barely rearranging, but Neil knows this look. He smiles at it. Andrew says, “No one likes a sap.”

“Sure they do.” Neil reaches out a thumb and traces it down Andrew’s cheek. Says, “Can I call you my boyfriend?”

Andrew huffs. “You already did.”

“Yeah but, I’m asking.”

“Yes.”

“Ok. How about _babe_.”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

“Stop thinking. You won’t come up with anything I don’t hate.”

“Bet you I will. _Honey_.”

Andrew flicks him on the nose. “I will leave this bed.”

Neil leans his forehead against Andrew’s, adjusts so that they’re holding each other, close and warm and.

Says, “I talked to Aaron.”

“Mm.”

Neil thinks this is permission, or a request, to go on. So he nuzzles against Andrew’s shoulder then pulls his head back, rests his hand on Andrew’s hip. Says, “I laid down the law.”

“Sure.”

“He apologised to me profusely and said he thinks I’m amazing and that my hair is nicer than Luke Skywalker’s.”

“Mm.”

“He’s going to do everything I say from now on.”

“_Neil.”_

Andrew’s look is soft, almost fond, the one often on his face in moments like this, but Neil definitely hears the request. Softens his voice. Kisses Andrew on the cheek. “I think we’re going to be ok. At least, I’m pretty sure he’s going to try.”

Andrew nods. Looks down at Neil’s chest, runs fingers idly against his collarbone, breathes out a barely audible, “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” says Neil, brushes his own hand behind Andrew’s neck. “It was easy. It was for you.”

“Gross.”

That night they shuffle downstairs to find everyone gathering in the kitchen, wet hair and pyjamas and hoodies, and they dish out food. They eat lasagne, and Neil suffers more jokes about the abundance of lasagne, and a great logistics conversation is had about how to cart the remaining lasagne back to Palmetto, and there’s a debate about how ethical it would be to just take the dishes – unethical – and whether anyone cares – basically no one.

Neil is holding Andrew’s hand under the table, but he has to stand slightly to reach for the water, and doesn’t let go, lets Andrew tug him back afterwards and place their hands on his knee. Neil smiles at him.

Over dinner Neil turns to Aaron and starts up a conversation about the game he was playing with Nicky. Nicky, rested and fresh after his bath, hair sticking up everywhere, joins in, roasts Aaron for being shit at the game, roasts Neil for being shit at all games, grins at Andrew as if they’re in solidarity on this, and Neil settles back to watch, can’t help but smile a little when Andrew makes eye contact with Aaron to ask exactly how many times his character’s head had ended up on the ground. Aaron scowls and looks away, but Neil’s hand tightens over Andrew’s.

The next morning he’s packing to go, and suddenly Neil is keenly aware of the season starting again on Monday, how little exercise he’s done this week, how unfit he must be, how out of practise, and it’s just when he’s considering having a panic about it that Kevin’s face appears in the door.

Kevin says, “We’re really out of practise.”

“I know,” Neil says, wanting to disagree, but it’s true, “but we’ll be back in two hours.”

Kevin nods. Looks at his watch. “Yes, we need to work on your long aim.”

Neil frowns. “No we don’t.”

“Yes, don’t you remember you –”

But Andrew has appeared from the bathroom at this point, nothing but a towel round his waist, and just says, “No. I still have a few hours.”

Kevin glares at him. “But –”

“A few hours, and I’ll come with you myself.” Andrew, done with this conversation, moves around the room to find clothes. Kevin shakes his head and leaves, and Neil smiles down at his bag.

Aaron and Nicky join them on the way back. Kevin was last seen getting into the passenger seat of Allison’s car, and Neil watched money exchange between the rest of the upperclassmen as they hopped into Matt’s truck.

In Andrew’s car, he relaxes into his seat, closes his eyes.

Nicky sighs and says forlornly, “The beach. I miss it already.” Sticks his head out of his open window and yells, “I LOVE YOU.”

Neil turns to see Aaron pushing Nicky so that half his body jolts out the window. Aaron says, “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Nicky just grins at him. “Sure, sure. You love me really.” He settles back, still beaming, and Aaron just looks away, unconcerned.

The car journey feels short, Neil feels himself drift in and out of consciousness, feels almost like nothing, toes out of his shoes and tucks his feet against the dash, feels firm and solid beneath him, reaches out a hand when they’re on the interstate and feels Andrew’s knuckles brush against his own, feels firm and solid beneath Andrew.

They pull in, so soon, to Fox tower, and Neil’s eyes jolt open, like he’d been asleep. Nicky and Aaron have already left the car, so he figures he must have been.

He rubs his eyes, cricks his neck, lowers his feet to the floor. Turns to see Andrew smoking out the window, looking at him.

He thinks about everything Andrew’s given him this week; _I’m not going anywhere; I love you, and now they all know; I love you. _He thinks about the panic attack on the beach, yelling at Andrew, losing himself: Andrew bringing him back. Spends a quick second worried maybe it’s all Andrew, maybe he can’t do this himself; but he dismisses the thought, knows he’s here because he wants to be.

Leans his face against the side of the seat, smiles and says, “Staring.”

Andrew doesn’t reply immediately, in fact looks a little complicated, like he doesn’t want to say what he’s about to say. Says, “We’re here.”

Neil thinks he meant to say _you’re _here, like he’s still remembering a year ago; his eyes are wandering over Neil’s face, like maybe he’s cataloguing his scars; although maybe he means _we’re here_, like together, like working out, like simple honesty – like he’s in as much disbelief about this as Neil is, like he’s simply cataloguing Neil. He doesn’t think that’s possible. Andrew’s only looking at Neil. But Neil’s looking at Andrew.

So he says, “Yeh.”

Andrew looks away. “You’ll talk to Bee?” Curls a hand round his.

Neil nods. “Yeh.”

Andrew drags a final breath out of his cigarette, chucks it out the window. Looks strong and soft and comfortable here, in his car, in _their_ car, against the backdrop of their home; _is _the home Neil’s made here; feels like the breath Neil was missing from his lungs. Neil feels his body planting forward, feels energised and uncomfortable all at once, feels truth hurtling up his throat, like bile, like something that was missing, like it’s painful and ok and _there_. And Andrew nods and says, “Ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man. fuck. i love you all so much. thank you for reading, and leaving kudos, and COMMENTING. comments kept this alive i LOVE YOU. fuck and i love neil josten. it's probably obvious. truth, being honest with yourself, is so important to healing, and neil spent his living running away from it, and learning to apply it to every area of his life felt like an important journey to send him on, is sort of similar to the one i'm trying to do. neil - i think you're as amazing as matt does. i am matt in this story. anyway. i just really enjoyed writing this. thank you for reading, it means so much. -hedy xxx


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